Total pages in book: 205
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
“You’re free to go. If it’s death you want, walk out that door and into the hills. No one will stop you.”
She doesn’t move, her expression losing color. Either she doesn’t have the strength, or she doesn’t have the courage. Probably both. But if I had to guess, that’s not what’s stopping her.
“Here.” From my boot, I remove my hunting knife and toss it on the bed before her. “Slice your wrists. Quick and deep. There’s your escape.”
Her brows pucker, and she sucks in a shallow breath. “Why?”
“I’m sick of watching you wallow in self-pity.”
“Then look the other way!” she screams, her heart showing.
One lonely tear skates down her cheek, and I do look away.
She doesn’t have it in her to give up. There’s too much anger, too much heart pumping through that little body.
What she wants is revenge.
So when she lifts the knife from the bed, I know she doesn’t intend to turn it on herself.
I grip the hem of my shirt and untuck it from my jeans. Pulling it upward, I expose my torso.
Her bee-stung lips part on a gasp as her gaze drags along the diagonal welted scar that divides my abdomen.
“You want to stick me with that knife? Someone already beat you to it.” I shove down the shirt. “She didn’t survive.”
Eyes leaping to mine, she flinches. “Who was she? What happened to her?”
“Doesn’t matter. The takeaway is you can stab us, kill us, threaten us any way you want. It won’t set you free. Not from the pain inside you and not from this place.” Propping an elbow on the armrest, I rest my chin on my hand. “Death is your only escape. Your death. Take it or leave it.”
“You want that.”
“Yes.”
“Then do it yourself.” With a hard flint in her eyes, she flings the knife at me.
I catch it by the handle and return it to my boot. “Denver and Wolf wouldn’t forgive me for that.”
“Coward.”
“It’s called loyalty. Something you know nothing about.”
“What does that mean?” Her nostrils flare.
“You’ve been in bed for days, screaming about all the ways you’re going to kill your husband.”
Her mouth flattens into a line, and her lashes lower. As her arms wrap around her torso, she winces, and a hiss of pain pushes past her clenched teeth.
She doesn’t speak. Not that I expect her to explain her manic behavior. But after a long pause, she surprises me.
“I hate him. My husband.” Her gaze lifts to mine, shining with torment. “I hate that he hasn’t found me. Hasn’t come for me and saved me from this. Not that I need a savior. I’ve never wanted or needed that. But now…this…” She sniffs, curling a fist against her flat tummy. “He didn’t want the baby. He wanted to terminate…” A swallow bobs her throat. “I’m grieving the loss of a child he didn’t want. He gets to escape this hell rather than sit in it with me. I should be happy he doesn’t have to endure it. None of this is his fault, but it’s easier to blame him. To channel all the pain toward him. This grief…It’s a sucking, demanding thing. It’s fucking unbearable. Hatred is easier. More manageable. So I cling to it.”
Strange things to admit out loud. She must be cracking.
I’m not a stranger to emotional pain. I know it hurts worse than a knife in the gut. But I guarantee her husband hasn’t escaped hell. He’s grieving the loss of his hot, pregnant wife. That is, if Denver left him alive.
But I’m not here to offer comfort or condolences. She’s a problem I want gone.
When I don’t respond to her confession, she gingerly lies down on her side and pulls the blanket to her chin. Every movement hitches her shoulders and creases her brow.
I’m still holding out that she’ll succumb to her injuries, but Denver said she’s a trauma nurse and knows how to treat the damage done to her body.
Still, I’m curious. “Give me an update on your health.”
“Your father was updated this morning.”
“Not what I asked.”
“Bastard.” She draws in a slow breath and continues in a monotone. “My body has recovered from the miscarriage. But the concussion and broken ribs will take at least a month to heal with hydration, good nutrition, and sleep.”
“Any risk of infection?”
“Unlikely. Disappointed?”
“Yes.” I glance at the pill bottle on the nightstand beside her. “Are you taking pain meds?”
“As needed.”
“Take the whole bottle. I’ll help you pour it down your throat.”
She huffs. “Where’s your family loyalty now?”
“When I imagine you taking your final breath, I get carried away with excitement. I’m only human.”
“You’re a monster. What did I do to earn your hatred?”
“It’s not what you’ve done but what you will do.”
“Tell me. Help me understand. Maybe I can avoid it.”
“Avoid my brothers.” I lean forward and hold her gaze, my tone cutting. “Stay away from them. Don’t be their friend. Don’t make them like you. And for the love of God, don’t fuck them.”