Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Embarrassment makes me cry harder because everyone in the living room has grown quiet, witnessing the way I was just insulted.
If I were the woman Nathan wanted me to be, I would swear vengeance and devise a way to get back at her, but I just feel hurt and discarded like trash.
Rather than sticking around to explain what's going on, Beck turns me toward the hallway, and I allow him to escort me from the room.
I don't know why I let myself get my hopes up. I never get what I want.
I want to curl up in a ball and cry, but Beck keeps a tight hold on me when I turn toward the closet once we get back into the bedroom. He keeps his arms around me as he kicks off his shoes before urging me onto the bed.
So this is it. This is when he plans to call in his chip and get me on my back.
I lift my eyes to his, but when I offer my mouth, he doesn't take it.
"It's fine," I tell him, knowing I owe him a debt.
He shakes his head before pulling me closer and urging me to lie against his chest.
His hands don't wander. He doesn't roll his hips against me.
There isn't one hint of movement that makes me think he wants more than what he's offering, and for some fucked-up reason, it feels like another rejection.
The harder I cry, the tighter he holds me.
Chapter 19
Newton
I've always been an advocate for free will. I've been hard-pressed to find a situation where I'd say that someone should be forced to do what they don't want to do, but watching the pain on Brielle's face when Beth refused to speak with her made me want to step in front of the woman before she could walk away and urge her to listen.
It wasn't my place. Brielle might be staying in my bedroom out of fear, but I'm not her champion. It's not my place to interfere with the issues between her and the other woman.
I know that Beth came from a small town in Texas that hasn't been touched by all the bad things that happen to others around the world. Being abducted and held prisoner is a big deal to anyone, but possibly more so for Beth, considering the level of protection and distance she's had from bad things.
I imagine that's hard for Brielle to understand, simply because she was forged in a life of abuse and torture. They weren't cast from the same mold, and that may be hard for Brielle to wrap her head around.
I pull her tighter even though her tears stopped long ago. She's sleeping now. Although I've tried to close my eyes and let the darkness carry me into repose, it isn't happening for me.
Kincaid wants me to get closer to her, and I know how easy that would be with the way she acted when I got back to the room today. She wasn't happy to have spent most of the day alone. She wants me here with her. All it would take would be a few nudges in the right direction, and I'd have all her confessions. I could easily relay those back to Kincaid. It's not that the man wants me to betray her trust. He just doesn't want the vile creature that is Nathan Adair back out on the streets. He doesn't think Brielle is evil, just that she's protecting herself by not providing evidence against Adair. In doing so, other women he's had abducted are continuously being hurt.
The problem is that I want to be closer to her. I like her in my arms. I like the fact that she wants me here with her.
I want her confessions to be because she trusts me with them not because I've done something to manipulate them out of her.
I spend hours holding her, listening to her breathing, before my eyes grow heavy. I don't fight sleep the way I would if I were in bed with anyone else. Brielle isn't a threat to me physically. My heart, on the other hand, isn't safe with her. She's too broken, too tortured by her past to ever be capable of truly caring for someone.
I shove away those thoughts. That is not what this is about. I'm not looking for anything like that, and I need to stop letting my mind wander in that direction.
My hand sticks to the filthy carpet when I try to scurry backward away from the imposing man.
"Leave him be, Aaron," the woman says. "Come back over here."
The guy sneers at me as if a seven-year-old is some sort of competition to him.
It's not me he has to worry about where she's concerned. If anything, he should hate those needles she puts in her arms every day. Those are the real competition for everything else in her life. I learned long ago that my mother hated me. Kids at school have good moms, and I ended up with the one who often forgets she even has a son.