Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
The second she's gone, my heart rate kicks up, and it's like my body knows that she's gone forever. There should be a sense of ease inside of me, but there isn't. I know there never will be again. Even feeding that part of me like I've done in the past won't help. My world is forever changed because of her.
I lift my head to walk from the room, but there she is, standing in front of me, and my heart kicks in my chest for a completely different reason, one I don't have the chance to explain before she's right in front of me.
Her chin wobbles some, but I see in her eyes how hard she's fighting to gain control of her emotions.
I don't deserve her. I'll never be able to give her the type of life she deserves. Even her forgiveness for what I got her into is unmerited, but it's a gift I'll readily take.
She lifts her hand as if she's going to cup my cheek and tell me I'm worthy of what she feels for me, she slaps my face instead, hitting me so hard my head turns to the side.
If I were a different man, it might affect me differently, but I don't chase after her. I don't seek retribution.
I stand there in the basement losing track of time and wishing I were a different man.
Chapter 28
Zara
I don't have a clue what I'm going to do.
I drove straight home from that cabin and haven't come into contact with anyone since. Short of sending a text to Tommy about quitting my job at the bar, I haven't even reached out to anyone else. I know I'm going to have to move. Working at the bar was part of the condition of getting this house at such a low-rent cost, but that didn't keep me from blocking Tommy's number after I sent that text. I've also blocked every damn number that has called me since, wondering each time if it was Owen or Hemlock or whatever his damn name is that’s trying to call me.
I can’t let my head get wrapped in what could’ve been because everything I felt was based on lies. It was all fake, all something he wanted me to see or feel so he could manipulate me.
I’ve worked on packing my things which makes me even more depressed because a lot of the stuff I packed and brought from Kentucky was still in boxes. It’s like my subconscious knew I wouldn’t be staying here long and didn’t let me waste time and energy on making this house into a home.
I blow a strand of hair out of my eyes, wondering all the while if shaving my entire head wouldn't be a good choice, but I know better. I know that the urge to change who I am is more about the man who exploited my emotions is the problem not that frustrating strand of hair that refuses to stay pulled back in my hair tie.
The knock does more than startle me. I'm frightened as I stand from my crouched position by the television. I grab my gun, the one I had to reload after—shit I don't even want to think his name—he expertly unloaded the damn thing.
It wasn't the first red flag that he waved right in front of my face, but like I've always done, I've avoided thinking or worrying about them where he was concerned until it was too late. Until I was locked in a basement, not knowing if I'd survive the trip downstairs.
With as steady of a hand as I can manage, I hold the gun up and open the door, only it isn't a stranger sent to kill me or even the man I feel disappointed isn't standing there.
"Seriously?" Tommy asks, using the tip of one finger to lower the gun so it's not right in his face. "Do you even know how to use that thing?"
I don't answer him because honestly, loading it, which was shown to me by the guy at the gun store, is the only thing I know. I hadn't made time to go to the gun range to even practice with the thing. Keeping my finger off the trigger unless I plan to shoot is the extent of my gunslinging skills.
Tommy walks inside my house, and I know I should stop him, but he also owns the place, so I'm not exactly sure where my rights stand, and I hate that he's just one more man in my life who thinks he can dictate what I do.
"What do you want?" I growl, closing the door because it's cold as hell outside.
"Why did you quit?" he says, noticing the packing boxes all over the living room, but he doesn't ask me what my plans are.