Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
“You mean those three months?” Of course we’ll have to talk about that. I’m the info girl. “I truly don’t have any names, but maybe we can find Papa through the doctor when—”
“Not Papa.” A muscle in his jaw works, and he seems to struggle before saying gruffly, “You and me. Because I laid a whole lot of shit on you, and you didn’t deserve any of it. Every damn thing I said to you. And…making you pay up, even though you didn’t owe me a fucking thing.”
His voice roughens more with each word, but I don’t understand any of it. “Didn’t owe you? Stone, I—”
“Did the same damn thing that I did. I was looking after my sister, and you were looking after your brother.”
“Yes, but you didn’t know that. I lied to you. Said I didn’t have family. Said I was saving my own skin.”
“It shouldn’t have mattered. Saving your own skin or saving someone else, we were all being fucked over by Papa. He was the only one who needed to pay. But I took that shit out on you, made it personal.” Something dark and desolate moves over his expression. “And by the time I got you into that cabin, I knew you didn’t owe me anything. Knew it real damn well. All I should have gotten from you was answers. But you made me feel so fucking good, I made you pay up, too. Took the virginity that you were saving for a husband, then fucked you every chance that I could, even though you were begging for me to let you go. And I’m sorry for that, Maxine. For making you feel like you owed me anything, then for taking what you offered to pay. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I can see how sorry he is in the bleak torment of his eyes, hear it in his voice. Sorry for the one thing from these past months that I want to hold onto. Sorry for the one thing that doesn’t hurt me.
Or didn’t hurt me. Until Stone said that he was sorry for it. And I don’t know what to do now. Except shrug and tell him in a voice still raspy after a night of crying, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. It turns out that I will be marrying the guy who took my virginity.”
I was hoping for at least a smile, or for him to curse my mouth again, but he keeps watching me with that tormented gaze.
“I just want to be real clear that what’s ahead of us ain’t like that,” he tells me, his voice all gravel. “You don’t owe me anything. And I sure as fuck won’t be asking you to pay up. So you don’t need to worry that I’ll touch you again.”
“Okay.” It’s just a strained whisper. My eyes are hot, my throat aching, and the pressure in my chest so tight. Vision swimming with tears, I ask hoarsely, “Can I take Daisy out to play before we go?”
I only catch a blurry glimpse of his nod before I’m gone. Because somehow…the idea of a future with Stone had wormed its way into my head. After he said that letting me go wasn’t so easy. After he agreed to meet up again when this was over. And after he held me so tight while I cried, encouraged me to keep fighting.
A part of me was still clinging to that future. Not actively thinking of it. Not on top of everything else. But feeling it out there, like a glimmer on the horizon. Something for after all of this. Something good and hopeful.
Something that promised I wouldn’t be alone.
But I should have remembered that Stone wanted pussy or answers—and now he’s getting answers. I should have remembered that he never wanted me to touch him or to kiss him. Now he won’t be touching me, either.
So whatever future had been glimmering ahead…obviously I was wrong. There’s nothing for me out there.
Nothing beyond getting to Papa.
It doesn’t feel like much.
31
Stone
For most of my life, Maxine Faraday has only been a four-hour ride away.
Four hours on a motorcycle is nothing. For weekend rides, the Hellfire Riders make four-hour trips on the regular. From central Oregon, four hours can take you anywhere. The beach, the mountains, the desert, the forest.
Four hours can also take you to Redding, California. A city I’ve been to—and ridden through—dozens of times. It fucking kills me to know that Maxine’s been so close and I had no damn clue. In a tavern, all it took was one look. If I’d have seen her while riding through, I’d have come down every weekend.
Because four hours is nothing. Barely any time.
And that’s never been more true than when she’s riding behind me, holding me so tight. For four hours.