Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I didn’t know what to do.
When I’d reached for that knife, I didn’t think he’d actually hurt me.
But he did.
I continued to stare at the screen, the tears burning my eyes, the terror and self-pity swallowing me whole.
“Fuck…what am I going to do?”
Bolton’s men watched me everywhere I went. If I walked to a coffee shop, they would watch me. If I drove to Theo’s house, they would intercept me before I could step onto his property. I grabbed the mouse and typed in his name, knowing nothing was a secret on the internet. He might have an email listed somewhere or even a dating profile on an app.
But there were no results at all, at least not for him.
I found other men with the same name, but they were all old. A couple obituaries. He’d wiped himself clean from the internet. It was as if he wasn’t a person.
Bolton was home.
Anytime I was in the house with him, I couldn’t breathe.
I stepped into the kitchen and looked inside the fridge, pretending to look for something to make for dinner, when in reality, I was just taking a moment to accept his presence.
“Astrid.”
He was right behind me. “Yes?”
“Look at me.”
My hand was still on the door, and I forced myself to close it before I turned to face him.
He was on the other side of the island, as if that would make me more comfortable. “I don’t want it to be this way.”
All I could do was stare.
“I didn’t want to hurt you yesterday.”
I was still frozen solid, too scared to speak or move under a predator’s gaze.
“Astrid.”
“What?”
“I said I don’t want it to be this way.”
“What do you expect me to do?” My voice came out as barely a whisper. “My shoulder is fucked up, and my back still hurts.”
Compassion moved into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want an apology.” Not from a psychopath. “I want to leave.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen.”
I started to breathe hard all over again, an animal locked in a cage, desperate to be free. “How long do you expect to do this? This will be exhausting for you at some point. Constantly watching me. Constantly threatening me. Why do you even want me if it’s under these terms?”
“Because it won’t always be under these terms,” he said. “We’ll go back to normal eventually.”
“Trust me, we won’t.”
“It takes time, but every prisoner embraces his cell at some point.”
Had he kept people prisoner before?
“I don’t want anyone else but you. In time, I’ll prove that to you and earn your trust again.”
“Your fidelity is the least of my concerns right now, Bolton. I’m just trying to stay alive.”
“I said I would hurt you, but I would never kill you.”
“That’s sweet.”
His eyes narrowed. “Give me another chance, and we can go back to our lives.”
I couldn’t lie, not even to save my own neck. “No.”
“Astrid—”
“You threw me against the refrigerator.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“But you did. You aren’t only a cheater and a liar, but you’re an abuser too. I don’t even know you.”
“I’m not an abuser. I’ve never once hit you in the years we’ve been together.”
“And you’re a kidnapper too.”
“I just want to make this marriage work.”
“It’s dead, gone, and buried, Bolton. Sorry I missed you at the wake.”
His hands went to the surface of the island. “This is happening. So you may as well get on board with it.”
“I may as well call the police.”
“Call them.” He said it simply, but there was a veiled threat there. “Call them. See what happens. But I’ll have to hurt you a lot worse than I did last night. And as I said before, I really don’t want to do that.”
I thought the devil’s eyes were red, but they were bright fucking blue.
After a long stare, he withdrew his hands from the island. “Do you need help with dinner?”
“No.” I never wanted to eat again.
He left the kitchen and returned to the living room.
I stood there, breathing harder now that he was in the other room, the imminent danger gone…but truly only a few feet away instead.
Most people dreaded being at work.
For me, it was my safe place.
The place where I got to be alone with my thoughts, when Bolton was elsewhere, either at the house or at headquarters, miles away from me. I knew his men were outside watching the gallery the entire time I was there. Sometimes I saw two men sitting in a car across the street when I had lunch at the café down the block, and I suspected they worked for Bolton.
I was suffocated, but at least not by him.
I stared at my computer screen and left the emails from clients unopened. My mind disassociated from my reality, and I let it float in a haze, let it decompress. I was exhausted from not sleeping, stiff as a board beside Bolton through the night. I’d tried to sleep in a guest room, but he’d made it clear that he would repeat the fridge incident if I tried.