Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Daniel’s mouth is set in a grim straight line; his eyes pierce deeply into me like he knows exactly what I’m about to do. But he walks toward me. He walks to my side of the island. Inside I’m screaming that it’s a trap, that he knows. My blood rushes in my ears and the sweat from my hand nearly makes the knife slip.
Five feet becomes four, becomes three, becomes two.
And he turns his back to me, reaching at eye level to open a cabinet before turning around and finding that knife pointed at his throat.
The sweat that crawls along my skin is sickening. It covers every inch of me as I try to speak, but my dry throat won’t allow it.
Stupid girl! I hear the voice yell at me. Regret and fear are instant, but the knife is in the air and I can’t take it back. My hand feels as if it’s shaking, but the knife is steady.
I can’t go back. “Get me out of here,” I breathe as he stares at me with disdain.
“You don’t want to do this, Aria.” Daniel’s words are so genuine, so sincere, that I almost regret taking the step forward and nearly pressing the blade to his throat.
“I want to leave.” I somehow push the words out. How strong they sound, although I’m panicked.
Daniel’s eyes turn sympathetic, or maybe they just look back at me as if I’m the pathetic one. I can’t tell. He deceives me so.
“I can’t help you with that.” My heart plummets and races at the same time. This is my only chance, my only hope.
“Open the front door.” As I give the command, I step forward and my trembling hand pushes the knife closer to him, slicing the skin of his upper neck, just slightly. A small nick, but it cuts him. I cut him.
The horror of seeing the bright red blood distracts me for a moment, a moment long enough for Daniel to shove his hand in front of me and try to grip the knife.
He may be fast, but my fear is faster. The knife pierces through his shirt and bicep, easily cutting into him, slicing his arm as I stumble back.
My heart beats so hard I swear I’ll die from terror alone.
The hot grip of his hand burns into my forearm even after he’s let go. My back hits the counter and I jump slightly, but I keep the knife up and sidestep slowly around him. The adrenaline is higher than I’ve ever felt before.
This is bad, my heart screams in terror, this is fucking bad. And I’ve lost the advantage of surprise, the threat of the knife minuscule compared to what it was a moment ago.
“Let me go!” I yell at him as he seethes at me. His grimace grows to something else. Something that looks hurt for me once again. And I want to sneer at him and his pity, but I feel sorry for me too. And there’s nothing lower than that.
“I said let me go!” I’m too afraid to get closer to him and every step feels like my knees may give out from the pure adrenaline pumping through me.
“Even if I opened the door, there are two guards at the gates and I’m not leaving anytime soon. They know that.” His voice is stern, and he takes his eyes from me to look at the cut. “Damn, you got me good,” he says, still not even bothering to look at me. As if I’m not a threat.
“You could hide me in your car.” My voice skips over my words as I struggle to think about the next step.
“And be scared of your knife that’s with you in my trunk?” he asks and my head sways. My body threatens to sway with it. I failed. I already know I’ve failed.
Stupid girl, the voice says, but even she pities me and the earlier anger from her is absent.
My heart sinks and it doesn’t stop like it’s in a never-ending free fall even though I can already feel it in the pit of my stomach. “Get me out of here, please. You can get me out of here,” I say although my voice cracks and I take a step forward with the knife. “Please,” I beg him.
He finally glances up at me and says, “Put the knife down.” That’s all he says, in that disinterested tone that all of the Cross brothers seem to have. A tone that’s utterly dismissive.
“Fuck you,” I almost cry as I tell him off. I have to step closer to him, I have to go through with this. He nearly got the knife from me last time and if he does this time, I’m going back to the cell. Fuck. My throat closes in on itself.
As if hearing my thoughts, Daniel tells me, “I could grab my gun, Aria, don’t make me.”