Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Instead of giving in, I try to salvage some kind of balance by making my own demand. “We kill them all before Christmas Day, and I’m yours.” I say, but it feels like I’m writing a contract with my own blood as ink.
The truth is that he doesn’t have to honor our agreement. For all I know, he might just keep me in a cage and then dispose of me once he gets bored, but the relief in his eyes isn’t a lie, as if he really expected that I might as well say no. I don’t know what he planned to do in that eventuality, considering he showed me the head of a dead man and confessed to his crime, but as long as I do what he wants, he has no reason to break his promise.
Can I go through with this?
“A challenge. I like it,” Saint tells me with a predatory smile that’s only missing sharp teeth and pulls his hand away from my cock to offer it to me. “Do we have an understanding? Our deal will start now.”
What am I getting myself into?
But when I think about the justice system failing me, about my parents and grandmother, about the bastards who killed them walking free, about all the time I spent in hospital, it’s easy to swallow my fear and shake Saint’s hand.
Chapter 13
Rowan
I switch off the showerhead and touch my hole, paranoid I’ve done something wrong and that Saint will be dissatisfied with me. I did know basics about how to prepare for bottoming, and Saint instructed me before I told him to wait for me in the bedroom, but I’m still worried about what’s about to happen. Much more so than I am about the head in the fridge.
I considered the small window a few times, even though Saint showed his trust in me by uncuffing me before he left. But he did take my clothes to the washing machine, so it’s not like I have the means to survive a trek through the snow in the middle of nowhere.
And I don’t want to.
As scared as I am, I want to see this through. Revenge seemed like a pipe dream, but now that it might become reality, I do think I’m capable of it.
The man waiting for me is the key to fulfilling my destiny.
One deep breath later, I step out of the bathroom without even a towel around my hips, since I’ll be naked soon anyway. I still smell of the vanilla and gingerbread oil Saint poured into the bath, and every step I take toward the open door to the bedroom makes more goosebumps erupt on my skin.
Truth is, I want to see him naked too. His cock is perfect, and the glimpse of stomach I got that time I gave him head turns me on every time I think about the tense muscles under my fingers.
Maybe I’m just as delusional as he is, believing this agreement we made can end on a good note for me, but what do I have to lose? A miserable life of celibacy, penny-pinching and impotent rage? Maybe it’s better to risk going out with a bang rather than rot on the inside.
Still, when I push the door and see him naked, standing by the window and looking out into the snowy landscape while a bedside lamp reveals his toned legs, back, and ass, I’m struck into silence. Because fuck, he is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, and for reasons I can’t quite grasp, he set his eyes on me. Broken me with scars all over my body and a bad knee.
Smiling, he steps toward me and calls me over with a gesture. “You look so hot like that.”
Do I? I force myself not to slouch as I walk over to him. The bedframe is dark wood, the bedding has a green plaid pattern, and the many pillows make the setting hotel perfect.
Awkwardness steams off me, but as soon as he is within reach, I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him. I can’t explain it, but I feel safest in the eye of the storm. I sigh in relief, then inhale the scent of his skin, and when he embraces me too and rests his chin on my head, I’m ready to lie down and take whatever he intends to unleash on me.
He might be a killer, but he’s not planning my death. Not yet at least.
“Are you hiding from me?” Saint asks, amused.
“I’m just a little nervous,” I whisper and kiss his neck. Not too nervous to explore his back with my fingers though. He’s muscular, fit, but not a meathead. I remember the graceful movement in which he ducked away from my gun, then disarmed me. It turns me on that he’s proficient. That he knows what he wants and how to deal with things, even if his methods might be questionable.