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)
I shouldn’t have teased a professional killer who owns me, no matter how upset I was, but my heart somehow hurts more than my neck.
“I’m sorry about the chocolate,” I mutter when I’m able to speak.
He’s very quiet, and George Michael singing about giving away his heart on Christmas feels like mockery, but I wait, knowing painfully well I might have sealed my fate. Would he still kill the two remaining men on my list after putting me in the ground, or would he leave, wanting to forget me as soon as possible?
“Just… go to sleep,” he says in a voice so dull it sounds almost like one of those century-old recordings.
“So… do you want me to sleep naked?” He usually does, and I also enjoy the sensation of our bare skin touching, but I’m not sure what’s expected of me now.
“No. I’ll clean up and sleep on the sofa tonight.”
I swallow, backing into the living room on my hands and knees. I should be glad that I don’t need to sleep with him tonight, yet I worry what this means. Will he lose interest in me now that I’ve spoiled his fun? “Are we still going to look for Miles Brown tomorrow?” I ask in a tiny voice.
He mutters something, and I flinch when another dish breaks, colliding with the floor. “Yes. Sure. Why the hell not?” Saint tells me in a voice sharp as a collection of razors.
“Okay,” I mutter and dash down the corridor.
My heart pounds as if it wants to leap out of my chest and find safety elsewhere. I should have just gone with his plan and enjoyed the cookies. But on the other hand, he shouldn’t have choked me, regardless of my mood. I shouldn’t have yelled at him. But he raised his voice too. I splashed him with the chocolate. But he threw the sprinkles at me. Then again, I started it all by tossing the gingerbread his way.
I’m so mad, so upset, and still a little frightened. But what did I expect getting in bed with a killer?
I crawl under the comforter and put a pillow over my face so he doesn’t hear me sob.
Chapter 21
Saint
I didn’t get much sleep, tossing and turning on the sofa until daybreak. I can’t say I wasn’t tempted to knock on the bedroom door and apologize for losing control, but I was too afraid he might have locked the door to protect himself from me.
I wouldn’t blame him.
He knows what I’m capable of, but it scares me that I didn’t. For years, I lived on my own, never truly engaging with anyone, never seeking closeness beyond the occasional fuck and conversation. But I thought he and I shared more, and having it thrown in my face hurt so much I lost my mind.
Now, our relationship feels as brittle as the damn gingerbread men. I wanted a perfect evening, and I made a mess of it instead. Usually when a guy pisses me off, I leave, but with Rowan, the stakes feel so high, and I want it to work so badly that I didn’t back off.
Maybe he was more stressed after the first kill he witnessed than he let on. I should have taken that into account instead of flying off the handle.
I don’t want him to shut down and keep himself from expressing anger just because he’s afraid of how I might react. As much as I want my life with him to be this perfect snowball diorama the truth is that we both have darkness in us, and I need to come to terms with that.
I spend the morning lighting the fire, removing piles of fresh snow from the porch, and reading up on how to apologize to one’s partner. After all, I’ve never had one, but every website mentioning a situation like the one last night advises me to call a helpline for perpetrators of domestic violence, or contact my church.
Well, that last one isn’t going to work, since the only pastor I know is currently frozen in the shed.
I sizzle in the fire of my own guilt as I trash all the cookies, because now they’re tainted, and I don’t want to see them anymore. I never thought of myself as a violent person. I kill people, yes, but it doesn’t give me pleasure other than satisfaction of a job well-done, and I’ve always prided myself on being gentlemanly in my everyday life. And yet, I snapped, and it feels as though I don’t know myself anymore.
I’m on pins and needles and close my laptop as I hear the door to the bedroom open. When Rowan comes into the living room, he’s already dressed in a large knit sweater, his hair brushed so it doesn’t point in every direction, like it usually does after he gets out of bed. Did he change his morning ritual so he could avoid me for a few moments longer?