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)
If she were anyone else, I would’ve ruined her by now, but every time I think of crushing her in my fist, I see that broken and bruised image of her from that night in my mind, and I can’t bring myself to hurt her.
On the far side of the room is a small coffee maker that sits on the bar. I stalk over to it and hit the button for an espresso, placing a small glass demitasse beneath it.
Coffee should wake her the fuck up, and if it doesn’t, then I guess she’ll have to deal with my assholery keeping her in line.
A few minutes later, she exits the bathroom and scans the bedroom hesitantly, her gaze finding me. The espresso machine spits out the final drops of coffee, and I take the tiny cup over to her.
She takes it from me, staring at the brown liquid suspiciously. “Did you drug it?”
My annoyance climbs once more. “No, the drugs were to keep me sane on the long flight, and keep you alive by stopping me from tossing you out the damn exit hatch. This is to wake you up.”
“How can I trust that you’re telling the truth?”
I might murder her. I just fucking might.
“I told you the biggest mistake you could ever make is to trust me, so trust is a non-issue here, Prey. I’m not a good guy. I will hurt you if it gets me what I want. Don’t make me do that; just do what I fucking say and stop questioning me because, in the end, I don’t care if you trust me or not. What I care about is you waking the fuck up and making yourself presentable. That’s what I care about. So don’t trust me…trust me. It’s all the same.”
Her eyes narrow, the blue catching the light, but she doesn’t respond, thankfully. Instead, she sips the espresso like we have all the time in the world. That only pisses me off more. I can feel my blood pressure rising. I roll my eyes in place of taking the cup and pouring the contents directly down her throat. “Just fucking drink it, already!”
Maybe she can sense how close to the edge I am, or maybe she’s finally decided to get moving; either way, I can’t complain when she places the cup on the end table and starts doing as she’s told. In an effort to move things along, I grab a dress out of the suitcase for her. “Here, put this on.”
She pauses and then starts examining the shimmery green fabric. “This...I don’t remember this being in Bel’s closet.”
“Okay? And your point is? I didn’t ask if you wanted to wear it. I told you to wear it.”
Her blue eyes blink rapidly, and I look away before I fall into their depths. “I can’t. It’s way too short; never mind the fact that I’ll look like a can of busted biscuits in it.”
All I hear are complaints when what I need is for her to do what she’s fucking told. I’m irritable and snappy and just need her to do what I say, when I say it.
“Enough,” I shout but then slam my mouth shut, my teeth clashing against one another, and I realize a moment too late that she’s enraged me to the point that I’m yelling.
I strive for control, and somehow, this tiny scrap of a woman has found a way to shatter that. When it comes to her, I go from zero to a hundred in an ,instant.
I need to calm down before I do something really fucking stupid. I force a ragged breath into my lungs, hoping the fresh oxygen will stop me from strangling her. Nope, not helping. I let my eyes fall closed and sink into that feeling of relief. Okay…let’s try this again. I blink my eyes open, and this time I glance from the floor, then back up to her face.
Like a random rainstorm, the anger, annoyance, and frustration return, threatening to pour out of me. I drag a hand through the mess of my blond hair and tug at the strands to the point of pain. It’s only ever Ely. Only this one infuriating female who can—
Fuck.
This stops now. All of it. I refuse to let her crawl under my skin and undo me from the inside out. No more threatening her. No more excuses. It’s time that I play my part. It’s time that I show her who I really am.
“I’m not trying to be difficult…” Her voice wobbles, a slow tremble rippling through her slim body. She’s afraid, but the drugs that linger in her system make her braver, more flexible.
I snarl my upper lip and leer toward her. “That’s the problem. You tell me you aren’t trying to be difficult, but you still are. So let me make this easier for you…” I reach for the knife I carry on me at all times. It’s a small switchblade, but it will do the job.