Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
“You did it!” he says as he looks at me proudly. “Another few strokes and you’ll be able to touch the ground.”
He’s already standing, his head bobbing up and down over each wave.
I swim until my feet plant on the ground and then I take a second before walking the rest of the way.
It’s only when the water level begins to creep below my shoulders do I realize I’m only wearing my bra and panties.
Maybe I can hang out in here until we get rescued?
“What is it?” he asks when I hesitate.
“Can you not look?”
“I’m going to see it all eventually,” he says as he continues walking past me with a shrug.
What did he mean he’s going to see it all eventually?
My mind is spinning as I watch him walk to the shore. His big round shoulders come out of the water first. I hate to admit it, but his man is really hot. Tattoos start on the crest of his shoulders and continue down his thick strong arms to his wrists. Water pours down his hulking back.
I gulp as I watch him step onto the shore, turn around, and drop down, laying on his back in the sand as he stares up at the sky.
I’m hesitating here, wondering what to do.
Even though he saved me and helped me swim to the shore, this man is a killer. He can’t be trusted. He tricked me into getting half-naked and now, he’s plotting something else. I don’t know what, but I’m not going to fall for it again. It’s time to get the upper hand.
I look at his clothes scattered along the beach and a glint of metal catches my eye. His gun! It’s sticking out of the holster in his jacket.
I head to the shore as quietly and as nonchalantly as I can, trying not to get his attention.
“Do you mind?” I say sharply when he lifts his head and checks me out. The water is at my knees and he can see everything. The worst part is, I’m wearing a lacy white matching set, so it’s like a wet T-shirt contest over here. Everything is see-through.
He swallows hard and then turns to look at the jungle.
I grit my teeth and sprint to his jacket. He turns around and watches me curiously as I swoop down and grab the gun.
It’s so big and clunky in my hand. It feels so unnatural. I’ve never held a gun before, let alone fired one, so I’m not sure what I’m doing. Is there a safety switch or something? Don’t they always talk about that in movies?
“What are you doing?” he asks in a calm voice like I’m a kid he just caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
My hand is surprisingly steady as I point the barrel at his gorgeous face.
“Get up.”
He sighs. “What’s the plan here, Molly? Are you going to keep that gun trained on me for the next few weeks, months, years? How are you going to sleep? Go to the bathroom? Eat?”
“Maybe I’ll just shoot you right now.”
“Go ahead,” he says as he picks up a small stone and throws it into the water. “Then, you can figure out how to survive here all on your own.”
My shoulders drop as I look at the island for the first time. It seems very wild. Just thick jungle that goes on forever. I have nothing to conquer it with. I’m only in my bra and panties. I could use a strong man to help me out.
“I’m not a bad man,” he says as he stares out at the horizon with a tranquil air to him. “Those guys were bad men. I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m sorry I got you involved.”
“Got me involved?! You almost got me killed!”
He sighs as he turns to me. “I’m sorry I almost got you killed. I would never have been able to live with myself if something bad happened to you. Please know that at least.”
He looks so sincere, but I’m not sure if it’s a trap. Aren’t psychopaths experts at toying with people’s emotions?
I keep the gun pointed at him as he casually gets up. He doesn’t seem intimidated or scared in the least that I’m pointing a deadly weapon at him.
He wipes the sand off his nice hard ass and takes a deep breath as he turns to me. “Should we go check out the island? See what we’re up against?”
“You’re not even Salvatore Brambilla’s son!”
“No,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not.”
“You lied to me.”
“For the first and last time. I promise you, Molly. I’ll never lie to you again.”
“Yeah, right. What’s your name? Your real name.”
“Blake Marsh. I’m thirty-three years old. From Vermont. I work as a principal in an elementary school.”
I roll my eyes and then point the gun harder at him. “I want the truth!”