Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I took my time looking this time, certain I’d never find them.
I have no idea what will happen if he catches me here when he returns. My walking papers were as clear as day, sitting right on top in that drawer. If he wanted to, he could’ve made it harder. If he didn’t want me gone, he could’ve destroyed the fucking things, or locked them in his safe.
He wanted this.
Tears sting my eyes, and it pisses me off. I’ve spent so much time trying not to feel settled, to not watch his every move, trying to catch him lying to me.
He said I was a smart girl for confessing I’ll never fully trust him. He flat out fucking said it was a bad idea, that he was untrustworthy, but his actions over the last several weeks didn’t make me suspicious.
I grab the jacket I’ve worn more than once when I stand on the porch, and shove my arms into the sleeves. I reach for a pair of boots that will be way too big for me just as I see the headlights coming up the long driveway.
Heartache freezes me right on the spot. I want to confront him, to confess how bad he’s hurt me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. As he drives nearer, I decide to face him calmly, to tell him this is over, and I’d appreciate a ride into town so I can catch a bus out of state.
But then he slows, his headlights flashing over me.
Maybe I have it all wrong, I bargain as the truck pulls to a stop.
It doesn’t take him long to climb out, the porch light reflecting off that sexy devious grin of his.
“Gonna catch cold out here, babe,” he says as he closes the driver’s side door before opening the one behind it to grab the groceries he went to get.
I thought things were great, and with the way he’s acting right now, I try to convince myself I got it all wrong.
I was brave enough to request clam chowder and spicy chips. I woke up this morning with that on my brain and it sounded like the most amazing meal ever. He scrunched his nose but assured me he’d grab some.
I swallow, my entire body trembling, my nerves shot at having to make a decision.
Tears stream down my face when he turns around, both hands full of grocery bags. He stops in his tracks as he notices the pain on my face.
“Don’t fucking do it, Lauren.”
His words are like a gunshot, the beginning of the race.
“Goddamn it!” I hear him roar as I fly off the porch and run top speed in to the night.
Chapter 39
Angel
There’s a very real chance I broke the jar of fucking pickles when I dropped the bags at my feet.
I knew she was going to do this eventually. Fucking leave it up to her when I’m most settled in, when I’ve let myself believe things were good.
I know why she’s running. I know she’s scared. I know she can’t let herself imagine being happy and as healthy as her mind will allow her to be. It’s my job to remind her, and unlike with most people, words don’t fix shit for Lauren. She needs a different approach.
She’s about to find out just how fucking serious I am about her safety.
We’ve had an early spring this year, and that increases the damn risk of snakes on the property as they wake up from their winter hibernation.
I’ll spank her ass relentlessly if she gets her ass bit while pulling this shit.
My boots pound over the ground, and I’m torn between letting her run as far as she can before giving up, and worrying about each and every fucking step she takes.
I thought this was going to be fun. I’ve been anticipating fulfilling my promise after she guaranteed this would happen, but things are different now. I plan on making sure she knows it by the time I’m finished with her.
The jacket of mine she’s fond of billows behind her in the moonlight, and it’s a fucking gorgeous sight to see.
I’ve been worried about her the last couple of weeks. She’s practically turned into a hermit. She won’t leave the house. It started with her making excuses, to her yelling when I urged her to go with me to the grocery store. That’s something else that’s going to change after tonight. If she thinks I won’t hogtie her and plop her ass in a shopping cart, she’s very fucking wrong.
There’s a difference in fresh air on the porch and getting away from the house for a few hours to recharge.
She’s nearing the edge of the property, so I increase my speed, grabbing her about thirty yards from the ditch.
“Let go of me!” she screams.
Her breathing is ragged with exertion as I pull her against my chest.