Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Before I have even a small chance to respond, Slade disappears out my bedroom door and I groan. Is it too hard for him to have used the window and avoid the possibility of running into my family? If Shay or Ben were to see him, they’d for sure think the worst and despite not exactly having the talk about boys in my room yet, I think I know their views on that one and it’s not good.
I give myself a moment to calm my racing heart and find myself touching my neck right where Slade’s massive hand had curled around it. Why was that so hot? The thought of a man’s hand around my neck should terrify me but I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me. He just wanted to prove a point.
I try to put it to the back of my mind. Thinking about it isn’t going to do me any favors. Instead, I fix up the sheets on my bed and slide down between them as I hear the soft click of the front door open and closing. The sound of a beastly truck starting up fills the night and I thank God that my family hasn’t come running.
Slade’s truck fades into a distant hum then soon disappears altogether and my breath finally comes easier.
What the hell was that?
Trying to forget about it, I slip my hand beneath my pillow and go to curl my fingers around the cool metal of my pocketknife, only there’s nothing there.
Remembering Slade had taken it from my hand, I feel around the bed, my floor, my bedside table, I search the whole fucking room before the realization dawns on me. He took it.
Chapter 9
I storm toward the school parking lot on Friday afternoon in an absolute rage. I cannot have my weekend like this. It’s been a shitty day. I’ve been on edge ever since Slade’s little visit last night but I refuse to have the day end and go into the weekend without my pocketknife.
This is my last shot.
I just…I can’t. I can’t go another two nights without it. Last night was more than enough. That knife is my security blanket, it’s the only way I feel safe at night. It’s like how Blake needed to sleep with a blanky when he was a baby and how kids like soft toys to snuggle. Just like that, I need my knife.
I hate how weak this makes me. After the shit I’ve suffered through, I thought I’d be stronger than this. I thought getting out of there would have me soaring but I’m still tied down by fear. How did I let this happen?
I get halfway down to the parking lot when I pass Maze and I hook my arm through hers, dragging her along with me. “What the hell?” she screeches, preparing to yank her arm free until she realizes it’s me.
“We’re getting my knife back.”
“Knife? What knife?”
“My knife. Slade stole it from my room last night.”
“What?” Maze demands, yanking hard on my arm and forcing me to stop. “Slade was in your room? What the hell, Skylah. Have you been holding out on me? Tell me he fucks like a porn star.”
I groan and start pulling her along. “Hurry up. We don’t have time for this shit. I need to get it back before he finishes training.”
“So much of this conversation is confusing me,” she grumbles, thankfully picking up her pace. “But you still haven’t answered me.”
A frustrated groan comes tearing out of me. “He didn’t fuck me,” I tell her, wondering why that statement makes me feel as though I missed out on something great. “He came to my place, broke in and then crept into my room like some kind of serial killer.”
“No shit?” she says, sucking in a sharp breath. “Are you serious? That’s so…hot.”
“HOT?” I screech, gawking at her. “It wasn’t hot. It was terrifying. He yanked me out of my bed and slammed me up against the wall so he could yell at me about the whole blue thing yesterday. I thought it was…” I let out a breath and continue on without finishing that thought. “He was lucky that I didn’t slit his throat. I mean, who does that kind of shit?”
“Wait…how do you mean you nearly slit his throat? You mean metaphorically, right?”
“No. Literally. I had my pocketknife in my hand and when he threw me up against the wall, I threw my hand up against him.”
“Wow,” she breathes. “That’s kind of morbid. Why do you have a knife anyway? Do you sleep with it?” I glance away and understanding appears on her face. “Why do you sleep with a knife, Sky? Did someone hurt you?”
“I don’t want to get into this right now,” I groan, hating that the thought of it has chills spreading through me. “Can you just help me find it. I can’t sleep if I don’t have it.”