Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
He was delusional, a maniac, and in need of some serious fucking help.
She shook her head, although she wasn't sure what she was denying. Fear tightened its hold on her body, and she wanted to scream, lash out, tear away at the thickness that poured from Landon. She hated him, loathed him… wished she’d just ended his life back at that house.
He tilted his head, and she felt as though he could see right through her, as if he knew what she and Scars had done, how she’d given every single part of herself to that man and then some. And as if he’d read her mind, his expression turned dark, dangerous, and deadly.
“I can smell him all over you.” He took another step forward, and she moved one back, making her way toward the back door. She could make an escape, or try at least.
They did this dark dance with him moving forward and her stepping backward until she was nearing the back door. She could run, use the trees, the thick darkness as a shield, to her advantage.
“He’s made you his whore, Hannah, his dirty fucking whore, and now you’re damaged. You’re tainted. Now, you’ll never be the same,” Landon spit out, disgust on his face. “You were supposed to be mine.”
She shook her head. “That was never going to happen. Never.”
He gave a bitter, humorless laugh. Her heart pounded so hard she felt as though it would burst right through her ribcage. Hannah felt her eyes widen when she realized Landon held something. A gun.
Oh God.
“Even though you’re damaged goods, I still need you to be close. I still want you.” He moved closer, and she kept walking backward, reaching out and trying to find the knob. She had one chance, only one to try to get out of this alive.
This is it.
She gripped the handle tightly and twisted, but before she could wrench the door open, Landon lunged for her. He went after her, his arms outstretched, this crazed look on his face. She could use things in the room as a weapon, but she needed to get to them first.
She twisted in his arms, but he had a chunk of her hair and pulled her back. Hannah cried out in pain and reached up to grasp her hand around his, trying to get his hold to loosen, to ease the sting. She was terrified, and that had her body tight, frozen.
Landon pulled her up and twisted her around so she faced him, and that’s when she kicked out, hitting his shin hard enough he grunted out. Satisfaction filled her that she’d caused him pain.
His hold loosened for just a second, and she didn’t waste any time moving away from him. But he was fast and slammed his body into hers, both of them crashing to the wall before they stumbled back and fell to the floor.
He took both of her wrists in one of his hands and thrust them above her head, holding her in place, making her immobile. He added pressure to her wrists, and she struggled, trying to buck him off, trying to kick at him again.
Her head bounced off the hardwood, and stars danced in front of her vision. He grunted in annoyance as she still tried to fight him. He had his hand still tangled in her hair and jerked her head back, baring his teeth. And when he growled again and lifted his hand from her hair, his knuckles coming for her, she knew this one would knock her out.
But the hit never came.
The pain wasn’t there.
And his body was pulled off her seconds later.
Hannah pushed herself up and watched as Scars towered over Landon. He swung out and connected his fist with Landon’s nose, the sickening sound of bone crunching, the sight and scent of blood pouring out, had her stomach roiling in disgust.
Scars had his hand around Landon’s neck a second later, hauling him off the ground as if he weighed nothing at all. As she stared at Scars’ face, she thought she’d see pure, unadulterated rage. But what she saw was far more frightening.
Nothing. A stoic, concentrated, focused expression. This man had done this many times. He was no stranger to violence. He knew about death, had welcomed it, experienced it… delivered it.
He wasn’t a good guy in that sense of the word, not by society's standards, but as Hannah watched him lean in close, Landon’s body seeming so small compared to Scars’, something deep in her body awakened.
It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t fear. It was this reality, this realization, that the man she’d spent the last few weeks with had shifted her very core.
She’d fallen for him. He was protecting her. And she knew she’d never be the same without him in her life.
Scars said nothing as he held Landon by the throat, the other man’s toes barely touching the ground. Landon looked like a ragdoll just hanging in Scars’ grasp, his hands clawing at Scars’ fingers, which were wrapped so tightly around his neck his knuckles were white.