Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 118114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
“Are you okay?” she asked, glancing up at me while she poured two glasses of water.
Fuck, this was the woman who made death matter to me. “Yeah.” I pushed away from the archway and sauntered into the kitchen. “Grilled cheese sound okay?”
I opened the fridge and took out a block of cheese and a tomato. She came up beside me and placed the cutting board on the counter. I grabbed a knife from the wood block and sliced while she took out the frying pan and put it on the stove.
She worked beside me as she buttered the bread. I stopped slicing and raised my brows at that. Her hand stilled with a glob of butter on the end of the knife.
“Both sides?”
A flicker of pain crossed her face. “My dad taught me.” It took her a minute before she continued. “He said if you’re going to eat a sandwich with melted cheese, you might as well go all the way.”
I chuckled as I sliced into the tomato, the juices pooling onto the cutting board. “A lump of cholesterol between two pieces of bread.”
I caught her subtle smile as she went back to buttering. “My dad? Do you know… how he is?”
“He’s safe, London.”
She lowered her eyes from mine. “I didn’t say goodbye.”
According to Ernie, she’d run away during one of her therapy sessions. She went in and never came out. Ernie asked the receptionist and she said London ran out halfway through the session through the emergency exit.
“I told him you’re here with me.”
Her head snapped up. “You did?”
I had and he also knew if he said anything to anyone, he was sealing his daughter’s fate. And it wasn’t a good fate.
The corners of my mouth curved up as I said, “Need some brownie points with your father.”
Her mouth gaped and her eyes widened. Then, she matched my smile with one of her own and I nearly cut off my own fuckin’ finger because I was watching her instead of watching my blade. I was never careless with a knife. Never.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck were we doing? I was sick of tap dancing around her issue. I was being a saint. A fuckin’ saint. This wasn’t me. And this sure as hell wasn’t her.
I whipped the knife across the room and it embedded into the cupboard above the oven.
I heard her gasp and there was a sudden stillness from both of us.
It was time. Not tonight. Tomorrow. Next week… right fuckin’ now.
“We’re done with this shit.”
She remained quiet, her eyes drifting to the knife, a butter knife in her hand then back to me. “You going to try and kill me with that?” She shook her head. “Too bad. I’d like a fight. What if I took off my belt? Would you fight me then?”
The color drained from her face. Then she backed away. I undid my buckle and slowly slid it from the loops of my jeans.
“What are you going to do this time? Kneel and take it? Let me beat you?”
I stalked toward her while she continued to back away and she still had that ridiculous butter knife in her hand, but it was at her side, the glob of butter getting ready to drip onto my floor.
“Kai… please. I’ll be good.”
I smirked. “Now, that is not the response I was looking for.” Her chin dropped and I stopped her before she bent to get on her knees. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”
Her eyes were wild and uncertain, confused. Fighting against what she’d been conditioned to do in order to avoid abuse. It was the same look before a man debated whether to give me the information I wanted or endure the torture I inflicted.
I either broke them or they died.
“Lie over the back of the couch.” Her hands shook and the butter knife clattered to the floor, but she did exactly as I told her. Her hands were on the seat, butt in the air and her hair covering her face, but I saw the trembling. I felt her fear in the air like thick smog.
I approached. Her body tensed but she remained in position. I put my hand on her back and pressed, there was no resistance.
“Is this what they did to you, London? Did they beat you?” Her head bobbed, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I yanked her shirt up. “Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Did Alfonzo fuck you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“No.” Her voice strengthened.
“Are you sure about that?” I snapped the belt over the couch beside her and she jerked. “What else did he do to you? What else gave you pleasure?”
“Nothing.”
I stroked my hand over her ass. “Nothing? They did nothing else to you?”
“No. That’s not what I meant. He made me… do things. I hated it. I hated him and… I wanted to die.”
My hand stopped stroking her ass and my heart raced as a cold rush went straight from my head down my body. “Why?” She didn’t answer. “Why, damn it? Fuckin’ why, London?”