Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
"You should've gone to the hospital," I say, hearing just how stupid my words are.
"Probably," he mutters as he grabs the desk chair from the corner and drops down into it.
I don't miss the way he positions it between the door and me.
"I'm fairly certain they would've had better pain medication."
I tilt my head, wondering how in the hell this has become my life. How do I go from a loveless marriage to one drug-dealing criminal to being held hostage in a cabin, albeit a very fancy cabin, in the woods, by three men who may have every intention of slicing me into little pieces and feeding me to the bears?
"What the hell is going on, Ow… your name isn't even Owen," I yell, throwing my hands up in frustration. "So it would be a mistake to ask you anything. You won't tell me the truth. You've been lying to me from the very beginning."
Instead of looking a little guilty for being called out, he stares a hole right through me.
I knew he was dangerous the moment I set eyes on him in the bar. For some reason, that was part of the appeal. Call it boredom with seeing the same faces night after night. Maybe it was that teen girl still left inside of me who sought out danger just for a moment of thrilling adventure. I don't know what it was but that dark edge to him was what caught my eye.
But here I am, a hostage in a situation that could end very badly for me, with a part of me whispering that it's all going to be fine because he won't let anything bad happen to me.
"Have a seat," he says, pointing to the twin-sized bed against the wall.
Stubbornly, I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to move.
He swallows as he leans forward, elbows on his knees.
"Sit. The. Fuck. Down."
He doesn't yell. I wouldn't even consider it a growl. The demand comes out even, and maybe that's what makes it so terrifying.
I drop to my ass on the corner of the bed, still facing him.
When he sits back up, straightening his back, I see the tiny wince of pain he has to be feeling. The man was stabbed earlier today, or was it yesterday?
I wouldn't know. There are no windows in this room. There's no bathroom, nothing sharp to use as a weapon. Believe me, I looked the second that gray-haired asshole locked me in down here.
Instead of demanding answers I don't have, he simply stares at me, and I feel the weight of it sink inside my soul.
I confessed to this man that I was starting to have feelings for him, but the bone-deep heartache I felt after all of this had unfolded, tells me it was much more than a stupid crush. It's more than wanting to spend time with him because he's so good in bed. What does all of that say about my mental health? It's not possible to fall for a man when I've only spent such a short period of time with him.
I pull in a deep breath, trying to convince my stupid heart that it isn't love or anything akin to it. I was lonely. I've kept myself isolated and never got personal with anyone, and it hasn't been since I came to Tennessee. The loneliness has been around for years. I didn't make friends at work. I didn't go out and have a good time. I thought I was content to just live, to work, and come home. I'd spend hours every evening sitting in bed and reading.
Although I avoided romance novels, a good mystery would always get my heart pumping. I realize now I was living vicariously through the fictional characters in the books, thinking it was enough. Clearly it wasn't because I stupidly fell for the first guy who snarled in my direction as if I had the ability to change him.
Tears well in my eyes before tipping over and racing down my cheeks, but I refuse to wipe them away. Not that he cares but let him see the pain he has caused me.
Or maybe it's the pain I caused myself for putting him on some stupid pedestal, thinking that he could be different for me, that maybe I could change him, that one day he'd smile and it would be for me only.
I want to scream and kick like a toddler. I want to scratch at his skin to get him to stop looking through me, like I'm not sitting in this room with him. I want to bite at his flesh until he confesses that he feels something for me too, and that has to be psychosis because I shouldn't want anything like that. The best-case scenario that could happen here is them letting me go and never seeing me again.