Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Anyone else I would say was bluffing.
But not Marek.
“Okay,” I hiss. “I’m coming.”
He doesn’t say a word as I get out of the bed and flick the lamp on. He stands in the doorway, shadowy and dangerous, his long hair pulled up in a messy bun on his head. He looks so fucking good; my obsession with him will only grow the longer I stay. It’s this desperate need to change something in him, or maybe to get him to fall for me. I don’t know, but I do know it’s dangerous and I’ll only walk away heartbroken.
“Move,” he orders.
I push up, glaring at him as I follow him out the door.
He moves quietly down the hallway, like a trained thief. You wouldn’t even know he was here. We pass Carter’s room, and I pause for a moment, mouthing a sorry to absolutely no one before following Marek out the front door which he somehow managed to open. Carter doesn’t have great security—he’s too cocky. He thinks nobody would ever want to break in here.
He's probably right, they wouldn’t.
A simple lock on the door is all he needs.
Not when Marek is involved, though.
Once we’re out of the house, he walks over to the huge black truck in the driveway and opens the door, watching me as I climb in. I don’t say a single word as he goes around and gets in himself, and when he takes off driving, I press my lips together, trying to force myself not to speak even though there is so much I want to say.
I can’t keep silent for long.
“Why are you like this?”
He doesn’t answer, not right away.
“Elaborate?”
“Don’t play dumb, Marek. I’m asking you why you’re such a monster.”
Nothing.
Well, I’m going to push.
“Nobody else is here but you and I, can you at least tell me something about yourself? You want me to act perfect, and you know everything about my life, but I know nothing of yours.”
More silence.
Then he surprises me when he speaks.
“My mother was an abusive junkie.”
Oh, come on, I need more.
I won’t say I’m sorry; Marek doesn’t seem like the type who would appreciate that.
“Is she still alive?”
“No. My father watched her drown in her own vomit, then left us and never looked back.”
Oh.
Shit.
“Us, you have siblings?”
“I’m done with the questions, girl,” he growls.
“Please,” I say, softly. “It’s just you and I in this car.”
“I have a brother. Don’t know where he is.”
“Have you ever tried to find him?”
He shakes his head.
“Why not?”
“Because he’s fucking evil, that’s why,” he barks. “Fuck, anything else you want to know? Should I tell you how my mother used to starve me for weeks, or leave me locked in a cupboard, or whip me until my voice broke and I couldn’t breathe? Or maybe you’d like to hear how when she was sober, she was kind and loving, and then with the flip of a switch, she would beat us until our faces were coated in blood. What is it you want, Ellie Mae?”
I swallow, horror washing over me.
I’m sure what he just told me was only scratching the surface and, judging by his tone, he doesn’t want to go on, so I’m not going to push him further. I have a feeling that he just told me more than he has ever told anyone before.
“You know, you don’t have to be the same.”
He slams his foot on the brakes, causing the truck to skid to a screaming stop as he pulls it to the side of the road, then he turns toward me and lashes out, reaching for my throat, but I stop him. Instead, his hand flattens against my chest and he pushes me back into the glass window.
“Go on,” I say, my voice shaky but I’m not afraid of Marek any longer. “Hurt me. If that’s what makes you feel better about yourself. I hit a nerve, didn’t I?”
“Shut the fuck up. I can end you. You think you matter to me, girl,” he spits, “you don’t.”
“I do,” I dare challenge, my voice confident even though inside I’m terrified. “I do matter, if I didn’t you wouldn’t have come after me, you would have killed me and been done with it.”
“Get out,” he seethes. “You think you matter? Get the fuck out. I can and will replace you.”
“No,” I throw back, my hands shaking. “No, I won’t get out.”
“Get out,” he roars.
I take his hand, putting mine over it. “I said no. You want me out, do it yourself.”
He releases me, getting out of the truck and moving around to my door so quickly he’s nothing more than a flash. The door swings open and I unclip my belt, turning toward him. He reaches for me, and our eyes meet. I know he’s fighting something in himself right now, and I know he wants to throw me out, to prove a point, but something inside me is telling me to keep pushing.