Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
The more she tries to push me away and dismiss her own safety, the more pissed off I become. No, she doesn’t need to be rescued, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by and let her get hurt either.
I shake my head. “I don’t care what happened in the past. I don’t give a fuck if you dealt with him by yourself or with an army of people. You aren’t alone now. You’re protected.” I let out a sigh of frustration. “Why didn’t you think to tell me?”
She stares at me like I’m stupid. “What good would telling you have done?”
“A lot of things.”
“What? Like what you’re doing now? No, thank you, and I don’t really want a replay of what happened in London.” Color climbs into her cheeks. “Sorry, but I don’t need to be reminded that I’m only here to satisfy my father’s debt either. You’ve told me many times over. I’d much rather just deal with it on my own. And it doesn’t really matter anyway; nothing else has happened.”
“Yet,” I hiss. “Nothing’s happened yet.”
She corrects me. “Nothing would’ve happened anyway. I’ve been careful. Secretive. Did you forget I survived all this time without your protection? I’d rather have no protection than have you offer me safety out of pity.”
Pity? I wish I could show her that the last thing I see when I look at her is pity. I don’t pity her. I envy her because she’s so much stronger than me. Stronger than a lot of people.
“It’s my job to protect you, Ely, and I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
The possessive need to protect and claim her in every way possible eats away at my crumbling resolve. Mine. She is fucking mine. Yet only mine because of a debt her piece-of-shit father owes. Not because she actually belongs to me in any real sense of the word.
“It’s not your job to protect me. It’s your job to make sure I’m capable of repaying my father’s debt to you.”
The anger in my veins boils over. Elyse might not be mine in the true sense of the word, but she’s not his, either, and I’ll be damned if I stand by and let her protect herself. That’s my job, as her owner, as her boss. As a fucking human. And I’ll start by making sure I can keep an eye on her at all times.
Crossing the space separating us, I reach down and wrap my arms around her middle. Her expression turns wary, and she tries to squirm out of my grasp.
“What are you doing?” She squeaks as I secure my grip and pluck her off the floor, tossing her over my shoulder. Shoving at my back with her hands, she tries to get me to release her and starts cursing at me.
“Keep cursing at me, and I’ll fill that mouth with something you won’t be able to talk around.” I swat her hard on the ass, and she releases a whimper. “Your own safety might mean jack shit to you, but it means something to me, so shut up and let me do what I’m going to do.”
“Safety?” her voice is lower now but still full of indignation. “As nice as it is for you to show even a morsel of concern about me, I think it’s clear that your security standards and capacity for keeping me safe need revisiting. Then again, what do I know? It’s not like he already got into the house, destroyed my bedroom, and ruined my belongings.”
Touché. It stings, but I let it slide because she’s not wrong.
“I don’t really care about your opinion right now. You’re still safer inside my house than you ever would be in the cottage where no one could hear your helpless screams if he got to you. Do I really need to explain in detail what he could do to you if he got his hands on you? How no one would be able to stop him because no one would even know he’s here. Out here, you’re as good as dead, Little Prey.”
She sucks in a ragged breath I can hear over the quiet sounds of the night. “Out here, I don’t have to pretend I’m okay. Out here, I don’t have to avoid anyone. I haven’t had a full night of sleep in days, and I’m hanging on by sheer willpower at this point.”
It’s impossible to miss the anguish clogging her throat. I recognize the terrible emotion that’s developing in my mind. Guilt. I loathe it. Despise it. Yet it’s all I feel as I play her response back in my mind.
I haven’t had a full night of sleep in days…
Even if I’m not fully responsible for what happened, I’m partially to blame, and like a damn rash, the guilt spreads across my skin, reminding me of my mistakes. I slip out of the cottage and jog up the small hill, trekking across the grass toward the patio door. My toes grow wet from the dew on the grass through my sneakers, but I don't give a shit. I can’t be bothered by such trivial things when I know I failed her. In my effort to avoid her, I nearly delivered her right into the hands of that sick bastard.