Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
There was a table lamp on one of the dressers. I unplugged it and hurried to the bathroom, grabbing a towel. I then set it over the lightbulb and unscrewed, twisting quickly and trying not to burn my fingertips on the hot glass.
I had to hurry. He could be back any second. I wrapped the lightbulb up in the towel, rolled it in the rug in the bathroom, and wacked it against the tile. Just hard enough to hear the glass break, but not loud enough to draw suspicion.
My heart fell when I unrolled the rug and discovered most pieces weren’t useable. They were too small or rounded. There was only one that had a point on it, and it was the size of a postage stamp. It’d have to do. I cleaned up the mess quietly and efficiently, grasped the fragile piece of glass between my fingers, then went into the bedroom to wait.
The glass wouldn’t cut deep. It wouldn’t do much of anything but piss him off, and logic told me it was a bad idea, but my emotions overruled it. Luka needed to feel at least a fraction of what I felt. I wanted to see him bleed.
Heavy footsteps approached the door, and my heart pounded. I urged my hand to stay steady. If I tensed too much, I could crack the glass further and have nothing. The door swung open. Luka stepped in, shut it behind him, and looked satisfied I seemingly hadn’t moved from my spot sitting on the bed.
His hand darted behind his back, and when it reappeared, it gripped a gun. I held my breath. Well, if that wasn’t us perfectly. Me, a tiny piece of fragile glass, compared to him, an experienced, strong weapon. I could only maim, whereas he could do so much more damage.
He dropped the gun on the dresser and for a single moment looked relieved the weight of it was gone from his hand.
“My father,” he said, gesturing to it. “He wants you to pick this.” Luka’s gaze sharpened on me. “But you’re still here.”
“Yes,” I whispered. I’d have to lure him away from the gun.
“Stand up.”
I climbed to my feet, concealing the scrap of glass in the folds of my skirt. Oh, Luka looked thrilled. His half smile reached all the way to his eyes. He strode rapidly to me, each footstep exponentially increasing my anxiety. What if he discovered the glass before I got to use it? What if he picked up the gun after?
“I’ve made my choice, Luka,” I said as his hands slid into my hair, forcing my eyes up. “But I won’t be easy on you, either.”
The half-smile spread wide and engulfed his face with a beautiful evil. “I’m counting on it.”
His reaction only strengthened my desire to show him pain. “I’ll hurt you.”
“Yeah?” He licked his lips, either preparing to kiss me or devour me like the big bad wolf. “You can’t hurt me.”
He brought my face to his and when his tongue shoved past my lips, I made my move. I set the pointed edge against his forearm and slashed down the length of it.
“The fuck?” He shoved me away as he hissed in pain, staring in surprise at the angry red streak on his skin. It wasn’t even a cut. It was more of a scratch, although I had drawn a little blood. Red began to blossom and seep from the center of the scrape.
Only I’d pressed too hard, and the glass splintered, cutting into my fingertips.
He snatched my hand up, painfully bending my palm back until I released the tiny bits of glass. “Where’d that come from?”
I whimpered in pain. Blood streaked down my finger and the cut throbbed. “The lamp. I broke a lightbulb.”
He looked, of all things, confused. “You could have used that to go for the gun. Why didn’t you?”
“Because I made my choice and there’s no point in running. Even if I knew how to get it to fire,” because I assumed it had some sort of safety lock, “I wouldn’t use it.” I glared at him with defiance. “I don’t want to kill you, but I do want to see you bleed.”
He stared at me with disbelief, and then something scary flickered in his eyes. “Yeah, well, we’re both bleeding now.” His grip increased pressure, and I yelped. “Happy?”
The ache spiraled up my arm, but I shoved the pain away. “Yeah, I’m fucking thrilled.”
He could move so fast. His hand lashed out and gripped my throat, shoving me along. He backed me up until the dresser dug into my spine, and I wrapped my bloodied hand around his forearm. It smeared our blood together, which seemed fitting. A deal forged in blood, started when he’d made me bleed last night.
He pressed me so hard into the dresser, I knew the fancy drawer pulls were going to leave bruises on my body. I needed relief and unleashed a slap across his face. It probably hurt me more than him, since his cheekbone was hard as a rock, but his eyebrow rose up and his skin flushed pink.