Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
“Good. We’re even then. Since you know you claimed my virginity and made me bleed.”
He cocks his head to the side, clearly considering my statement. “I suppose, but there are other ways to make me bleed. Ways that don’t involve pissing me the fuck off.”
“It’s only fair that I get to choose the circumstances in which you bleed since you got to choose mine without my consideration.”
This all appears to be backfiring on me because instead of warning him off, he looks curious and interested. “Every time I think I know what you’ll do next, you surprise me. I like it. I like the shock and uncertainty. You’re unpredictable, the chaos to my madness.”
“I don’t want to be anything to you. All I want is to figure out what you want from me so I can fulfill that obligation and get the hell off your radar. Other girls might find the lengths you go to gain access to them romantic, but I am not them.”
He looks me up and down, his gaze hungry and demanding. “Believe me, I know, which makes you all the more appealing. Like I said before, the more you fight, the harder I’ll tighten my hold.”
The reality that he isn’t going to disappear into the background and leave me alone hits me like a ton of bricks. “I’m begging you, please. I won’t tell anyone what happened in the woods. I’m no one. Nothing. I just want things to go back to normal. I want to be unnoticed and blend in with the background.”
“I already told you, Maybel. The answer is no. I’m not going anywhere. I can’t forget your existence. Not when I’ve just discovered your beauty. You’re mine. Accept it, and it'll be more pleasurable for you. Don't, and it'll be better for me. The choice is yours."
His tone is crystal clear. He means every word he says, and that’s as terrifying as the reality that I’ve garnered the attention of a man who seems intent on keeping me no matter what.
CHAPTER 13
DREW
Some days, rarely anymore, hell is on my side. And by hell, I mean I paid off one of the nurses who takes care of my mother to tell me when my father will be off the estate for an extended period. My phone pings again as my personal accountant tells me the transfer went through to Nurse Helen. She gets a bonus when I can actually sneak onto the estate to see my mother without my father knowing since he always makes a big bullshit show of things if he catches me there, especially if I'm still with her when he arrives. Yet he has no problem throwing it in my face that I don’t see her enough. A complete narcissist if I ever met one.
I scrub my hands over my wet hair and walk faster to the motorcycle I barely ever use in the garage at The Mill. My father's driver usually takes me anywhere I need to go unless I choose to walk, but for this, he can't. The house was quiet when I left, and I showered at lightning speed before racing down the stairs and out the door.
It's early still, nine o’clock, the sun already peeking through the nearby forest trees.
I smile when I think about the last time I was in those woods. With Bel.
Fucking Bel.
I touch my tender lip where she'd made me bleed, and I smile all over again, the skin stretching, a lick of pain washing through the tiny cut. Oh yes, she's so much more than I thought she'd be. A beautiful, chaotic mess that I intend to dirty up. The engine roars beneath my legs, vibrating through me. The sound and feeling make me miss riding this thing. The wind in my hair, whipping all around me, the speed and agility. I hit the throttle, my speed climbing as I hurdle down the road. It’s a short drive to the estate, and I hate how quickly it goes.
I slow as I approach the security gate and walk the bike to a set of nearby bushes on the off chance that someone drives by and recognizes my bike. I don’t need anyone calling my father and telling him shit. My boots crunch against the pavement as I walk up to the guardhouse. Bill is standing guard as he typically does, his features tight, his eyes sweeping the front of the property. Bill is one of the nice guys, in his early forties and fairly built. He took the job here five years ago after the last guard mysteriously disappeared.
I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out a hundred-dollar bill. I pass it to him through the small window, and he shakes his head, frowning at me. “I’ve told you half a dozen times, kid, you don’t have to pay me. My job is to open and close this gate and monitor who is coming in and out. I already promised you that I wouldn’t tell your father.”