Total pages in book: 205
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Why not?
Either Denver doesn’t want his sons to learn, or my assumption is correct, and there have been others like me.
Others desperate to escape.
My stomach growls for the hundredth time, reminding me to eat.
I enter the kitchen, relieved to find it vacant. It’s well-stocked for a cabin in off-grid Alaska, but I imagine a month into winter with four adult men, the pickings grow rather slim.
A quick rummage through the pantry yields mainly rice and grains. I don’t know what to do with that.
I’ve lived a privileged life. Before Monty, my meals consisted of take-out between studying and long hours at the hospital. After Monty, well, we had a private chef.
I don’t know how to cook.
So naturally, I head to the freezer, hoping for a pre-made meal. As I open the door, a blast of frigid air coats my face.
That’s when Wolfson strolls in, carrying a bushel of fresh vegetables. “What are you looking for?”
“Severed heads.”
“Check the walk-in freezer. That’s where we keep our trophies…still attached to the bodies.”
“Is that where I’ll end up?” I follow his gaze to the full-size steel door beside the pantry.
“Not today.” He crooks a side grin.
I know he’s fucking with me, but beneath every joke lies a trace of truth.
And now, I’ve lost my appetite.
With each day that goes on, the tension in the Alaska Murder Family has grown. I can’t shake the feeling they’re hiding something. Whether it’s dead bodies or something else, a strong feeling of dread looms on the horizon. An omen, a sick anticipation, heralding the coming of something very, very bad.
Brave face. Don’t you dare let it slip.
I turn, meeting his striking blue eyes. And that smile? Devastating. If he lived in New York, he’d have every talent agent and fashion photographer hounding his gorgeous ass.
Today, he wears a Hawaiian shirt and denim cut-offs. And the purple housecoat again. He seems to favor it.
The crown of thorns hasn’t faded. But there’s a new design. A lace choker etched around his neck with cherries dangling at the center.
He catches me staring and widens his sugar-laced smile. “You like? You should. You inspired it, Cherry Bomb.”
“Aw. You’re so sweet in your emotions. You’ll be everyone’s favorite punk in prison.”
“Why would I go to prison?” He gasps.
“The bodies in the freezer?”
“Oh. That.” He shrugs and takes a step toward me. And another. He keeps coming until my back hits the refrigerator, the sliver of air separating us not nearly enough. “Speaking of bodies, I need to check the traps and snares. Come with me.”
His eyes sparkle, and my stomach coils.
“I…” A shaky breath pulls through me. “I really hate trapping. All those dead animals and…more dead animals.”
“Where’s my twisted girl now? Hm?”
“I’m not your girl, Wolf. Step back.”
“You have nothing to fear. I’m a virgin.”
My lungs seize as what-the-fuck rings in my ears. “What?”
“I’ve never been with a woman. Never touched one.” His hand hovers beside my face. “Never kissed one.”
My mind swims as I duck to the side, shooting away from him. “What about the others?”
“What others?” He watches me pace through the kitchen, his expression unmoved.
“The one who stabbed Leonid in the stomach?”
“That was Mom.”
“Your mother?” My eyes bulge. “Why would she—?”
“I wasn’t there. You’ll have to ask him.”
“Bullshit. You know. If your mother stabbed your brother, you would ask what happened.” I grab at my hair. “You live here, for fuck’s sake.”
“She wasn’t fond of me.” He runs a hand down the purple robe. “She didn’t want me around.”
My heart hurts. “What was her name?”
“Gretchen.”
“Is that her robe?”
“This old thing?” He laughs, and it sounds sad and hollow inside. “Maybe.”
It was positively her robe.
Goddammit. He’s sentimental. I hate it. It makes him human, and that doesn’t work. I need him to be a sociopath so I can use him to save my own ass. I can’t afford to care about this man.
“I need to go check those traps.” He treads toward the door. “Last chance to change your mind.”
“I want to talk about this.”
“Talk about it with someone who cares.” With a salute, he leaves through the front door.
Shit.
If I follow him, I might get answers. But hiking in the tundra alone with him after he put the moves on me? No, thanks. That’s just begging for trouble.
I need to write this shit down. Every detail and every clue. That way, when I escape, I have everything documented.
As I head back to the library to do just that, I catch movement in the hallway. A shadow peels away from the wall and slips into an open doorway.
My breath catches.
Someone was eavesdropping on my conversation with Wolf. I doubt it was Denver. He would’ve made himself known.
I approach the doorway and peer into the inky black.
Stairs lead down to another door.
I haven’t explored the entire cabin yet, but there are two places I deliberately avoid. Denver’s bedroom. And the basement.