Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
He eyes me. “Why?”
“Why the hell does it matter?” I swear to God, if he’s got a thing for her… that’s the last thing I need. I snatch the plate from him. “If you’re fucking her, Caleb…”
“She’s a hostage, Jude. I’m not that screwed up.”
At least one of us has some morals, because if she were in my room… There’s a damn good reason I locked her up in my brother’s room instead of mine.
I cart the food up to Caleb’s room, and when I open the door, I stop. She’s on the bed, flipping through Grace’s battered copy of Alice in Wonderland.
She spares me half a glance before going back to the worn pages.
“Why do you have that?” I ask, gripping the plate so hard my hand shakes.
She lowers the book to her lap. “Do you see any other form of entertainment in this room, Jude?”
I put the plate on the nightstand, then take the book from her hands and toss it to the dresser. “Don’t touch that book.”
She narrows her eyes. “Caleb gave it to me.”
A thread of anger worms through me. It was Grace’s favorite book. One I used to read to her when we were both kids. And I hate the idea that Victoria may have unintentionally wiped any remnants of my sister away. “I don’t give a shit. Read something else.”
“Oh, sure.” She looks around the room. “Still no magic library appearing out of thin air.” Her attention moves to the plate. “And if you’re here to force feed me again, I’ll happily spit that on you, too.”
The girl has no survival instincts… “And if you do that, I’ll just take the fucking plate and shove it in your face until you have no choice but to eat or suffocate.”
Her nostrils flare. “Can you leave?”
“Can you shut up?” I fold myself into Caleb’s gaming chair and stare at her. “The sooner you eat that, the sooner I leave you to your fucking solitude.”
She snatches the plate with a huff. “Feel like a chicken being fattened up for slaughter,” she grumbles before taking a mouthful of potato.
I watch her take another bite, and something gets to me. Maybe it’s how young she is. Maybe it’s the fact that Grace is on my mind, but whatever it is, it plants a seed of guilt in my gut. This is a position I don’t want to be in anymore than she does.
“Did you cook this?” A shadow of a smirk plays at her lips. “There’s too much salt in it.” Then she takes another bite, slowly sliding the fork past her lips in a way that draws my attention. She’s savoring that shit, so I smirk right back at her.
“I didn’t use any fucking salt.”
“A criminal who cooks. How very domestic.”
I can’t stand her. Because if I’d met her in a bar, right about now, I’d be shoving my hard cock in that smartass mouth of hers. I love a woman with an attitude. And this girl–she takes a bite of meat then lifts a middle finger in the air–she has plenty of attitude.
“Do they not teach you survival skills in England?” I ask.
“I’ve got one more day… If I go out, I want you to know how much I hate you.”
I fight the smile that wants to cross my face. “Duly noted, doll.”
She scowls. “Don’t call me that.”
“Like you said, you only have one more day. I think you can deal with it.”
I snatch the remote from Caleb’s dresser. When I turn the TV on, she groans, then practically shoves the plate in her face and stuffs her cheeks. Glaring at me, she holds the empty plate out and she forces the food down. “Leave, please.”
I take Grace’s book, then grab the plate and go, adjusting my dick as I lock her in. I’m only a few feet away when I hear something smack the other side of the door.
Fuck. Her and that temper…
Tor
God, I hate him and his presence has only made my black mood even worse.
Sitting there all smug, rubbing over his muscular chest, those tattoos on display… I groan at the thought and flop back on Caleb’s bed. Of course Jude’s hot. The asshole’s always are.
I turn off the TV seconds before Caleb comes in and turns it back on.
He flops down in the seat his brother just vacated, taking up half the space, then belches. “Damn, Jude cooks some good hamburger steaks.”
“Pretty sure any idiot can make burgers.” It was a good burger, but I’d never voice that.
He snorts. “It’s not a burger. It’s a southern delicacy.”
Whatever. I lean back on the bed staring up at the ceiling. I want to focus on anything but the fact that I possibly have twenty-four hours to live and I’m stuck in this room, forced to listen to football.