Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
It’s Jase, no doubt with more information about the informants.
“Declan?” My name is a whispered and cautious question on her lips. Her cheeks are blotchy and her hair disheveled. I should love this look on her, this obvious need to make things right with me, but I loathe it.
What the fuck am I even doing with her?
“Get your shoes on,” I command her and she’s quick to move. I assume in hopes that this conversation is over, but it is far from over. “If you behave like that again, I’ll lock you in a real cage.” Pausing in her movements, she peers back at me silently. “Do you understand?”
She nods and swallows thickly before saying, “Yes.”
The phone rings once more and I answer it. “One second.” Bringing the phone down to my chest, I watch as Braelynn fixes the sleeve of her sweater dress. It’s not until she’s somewhat composed that I speak.
Although it’s more than evident that she’s emotional and still shaken.
“If you keep secrets from me, I won’t know and you’re going to end up hurting yourself.” Fully clothed, she stares back at me with her eyes glistening, her arms crossed over her chest. Her bottom lip wobbles and the thoughts that flit through my mind are insane. Truly deranged.
The desire to hang up on my brother, to coddle her and love on her until she doesn’t look at me like that any longer … it’s unfathomable.
So I do what’s best for her, what I should have done from the very beginning. “Go home, Braelynn.” She should have left the first time I warned her and never come back.
She doesn’t respond verbally, only with a single nod before briskly leaving.
The moment the door closes and I answer my brother, all I can think is she might do just that after today.
She may never come back. It leaves me with a sinking feeling in my chest, and a chill and numbness that stay with me for the remainder of the night and into early morning. I stay up the entire time knowing all too well, if she were smart, she’d never step foot in this office again.
BRAELYNN
Last night I cried over Declan Cross.
I don’t know that I can do this. It’s not just money and lust. I’m not okay and I keep crying every time I glance at the clock. With the shift of the red digital display, it turns to 4:00. I have two hours before I’m supposed to go back to him and my stomach is still in knots.
Rubbing my eyes, I splash cold water against my face and rub them again.
I’m so torn on what to do, I feel both drained and sick.
It’s been two weeks since I started working for him, but it feels like a lifetime. I swear a part of me feels as if I know him, but he doesn’t know me and really, what do I know about him?
Other than this compulsive need to be beside him. The only thing I’ve done today is stare at the expensive bottle of wine he had delivered this morning. My check came wrapped around it. Does he think that will make this better? More importantly, am I supposed to pretend yesterday didn’t happen? Am I supposed to be okay with this?
I collapse onto the sofa, peeking at the clock again and wishing I could pause time. Just enough to feel better, even a hint better. As every minute ticks by, it all feels heavier.
I’m still on the couch, wrapped in my blanket, when I get a text from Amy. She’s a friend from a lifetime ago, and the perfect kind to have. She checks up on me here and there since moving to California to start a better life, but there’s never any pressure between us. We always pick up right where we left off. It’s good, because sometimes my life goes through drastic changes. Like when I left Travis. It never shocked her; she only wanted to make sure I was okay. She was the first person I told when he hit me. We were young and dumb and only nineteen.
I’ll never forget that lonely feeling, like I couldn’t tell anyone. I could always tell Amy everything, though. And she could do the same for me.
Amy: How’s the new job going?
Honesty is not at the tip of my tongue. I tap out a text telling her it’s all fine, just getting up to speed still, and send it. Chewing the inside of my cheek, it feels like I’m back years ago. Hiding from the truth and unwilling to tell a soul. When deep inside I want to scream it.
Maybe I should show up drunk, thank him for the bottle that sits on the coffee table, and then quit. That’s what a very large piece of me wants to do.