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)
“No, but I…I’m sorry.” Her apology, if you could call it one, grates on every cell in my body. I tighten my grip on her arm and tug her forward roughly. She stumbles beside me, but I don't slow. I can’t, not with the edge of my anger still digging deep. We stop in the line near the Ferris wheel. It’s the first thing I thought of when I considered a place where I can get the fuck away from everyone for a minute. A place I can sit and breathe for a moment to calm the rage. Thankfully, one of the football players is running the thing. I recognize him as Nash Winthrope. I wave to him, and he gives me a nod. I’d skip the line altogether, but he’s got a wheel full of riders already.
Maybe this is a bad idea.
I want to break things, throw things, strip, and scream. Seeing that piece of shit with his hands on her, smiling. Touching what is mine. The possessive need grew with each second I saw them together. The thought pushes me deeper into my anger until I reach out and instinct takes over. I grab her by the back of the neck. Her tiny body crashes against me, and I tighten my hold. She even smells like him and the cheap beer he bought her. Fuck, I want to rip this dress from her body and give her my shirt just to replace the scent. I know it’s irrational and fucked up to want to punish her, but there is a huge difference between guys like Stewart and guys like me. I’ve never hurt Bel. I’ve never done anything with the intent of raping her. It might have hindered on dubious consent, but I didn’t drug her, and she always had the option to say no.
“Drew, stop. You’re hurting me,” she whines, struggling to get away.
As badly as I’m tempted to wring her pretty neck, I can’t. The thought of breaking her, of watching the warmth leave her skin, makes the cold organ in my chest ache. That doesn’t mean I’ll let her get away with this, though. There are other ways of hurting someone.
“I’m feeling really fucking murderous, flower. Is that what you want? Is that why you came here with him tonight? To see how far you could push me? Do you want me to kill him? Don’t tempt me because I’ll do it just to prove a fucking point.” I speak through gritted teeth, peering down into her heart-shaped face. The reality is that might very well be his fate. I haven’t decided whether I’m going to do it or not.
“Don’t make choices you’ll regret, and don’t spill someone else's blood for me. I’m not worth another person’s life.” How can’t she see that she’s worth that and so much more? This may have started with The Hunt, but from the moment I claimed her as my prey, she was mine. It doesn’t matter if he didn’t know because she did. What I did to that fucker is a direct consequence of her actions.
The wheel circles around a couple more times, and then Nash slows it down, letting the patrons off cart by cart. It takes forever, but once it’s time for us to load, a little of my steam has dissipated. I practically drag Bel up the steps and push her into the cart.
As soon as she’s out of my grasp, she scurries away, putting as much distance as she can between us, which isn’t much given the size of the small pod. It’s round and large enough to seat at least four people. I plop down onto the bench seat and grab onto her bare thigh, pulling her across the space. She looks up at me and I see a small amount of fear, but there’s something else beneath the surface. Something depraved and dark, something that speaks to me.
"Is that only fear I see in your pretty green eyes, or is there something else there? Does what I did turn you on?”
“Not everything is about sex.”
The wheel moves again. “No, you’re right. Not everything is about sex, but it happens to be my weapon of choice with you. So tell me, flower, are you as depraved as me? Because even as afraid as you appear, something tells me you’re a little bit curious and a whole lot turned on by violence.”
“Violence doesn’t turn me on. You’re psychotic, Drew.”
I laugh. “Thanks, Doc,” I mock, “but you aren’t telling me anything I don’t know, and maybe the violence doesn’t turn you on, but the thought of being taken does, the helplessness of being at my mercy. The thought of me doing whatever the hell I want to you while you beg me to stop, all while knowing that I won’t.” I dig my fingers between her thighs, and the smallest moan slips free of her lips. She doesn’t have to say anything. I already know the truth. “It’s okay if you’re too embarrassed to admit it. I won’t judge you. It can even be our little secret.” I push her thighs apart. “It’s time to discuss that bullshit version of a date you went on, and I’ll need you to be honest with me. Otherwise, this could get bad for you.”