Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
My stomach twists.
Do I even have it in me to do something like that?
If it means freedom, then yes, I do.
So why does the thought of killing him have my heart stinging just a little?
It’s because I’m soft.
Right?
It’s not because I’m messed up and a weird part of me kind of likes how much he wants me and the lengths he’s willing to go to to keep me. I think there is a name for that ... Stockholm syndrome.
I’ll have a lot of work to do when I get home.
“He’ll be looking,” I answer his question. “But I’m guessing he won’t know where to start.”
“I’ve seen it on the news,” Marek informs me, and my heart sinks a little, “they’re offering a decent reward for information.”
They are?
I mean, of course they are. They do love me. They’ll also be loving the press and attention they’ll be getting over this situation. My family would do anything for me, sure, but they’d probably do more for fame and money.
“Does that make you sad?”
I glare at Marek. “Is this some kind of twisted mind game? I know my family is looking for me, Marek, I’m not stupid. Can we get on with it?”
He studies me, those intense eyes raking over my face. “You don’t love him.”
Seriously?
I take another big gulp of wine.
Remember the plan, Ellie.
“I love what he can give me,” I answer, blandly.
“And it’s not a wonder you don’t know passion.”
“I know passion,” I snap. “He does fuck me, you know.”
Marek grins. “I assure you, Ellie Mae, that you have never been fucked.”
“Whatever,” I grumble because he’s probably right.
I’ve only been with two men, one before Carter who was clumsy and young. Carter is a good lover, but he’s very textbook. So, I suppose I haven’t been fucked in that sense. Taking another sip of wine, I decide to open myself up a little to Marek. It’s all part of the act, of course, but I want him to sleep soundly with me beside him and the only way he’ll do that is if he thinks he’s safe.
“Carter is the man my parents want for me,” I say, reaching for the bottle of wine and filling up another glass.
“Rich.” Marek nods slightly. “Isn’t that the dream?”
I snort. “Depends who you are. For me, no, it isn’t.”
“Then what is, Ellie Mae?”
I wish he’d stop using my name like that, it only makes it harder to remember why I hate him so much.
“Dancing,” I say, pointedly, “my way.”
“What is your way?”
“A way that no elite schools or programs like,” I huff, taking another sip. “My turn. Why don’t you treat those girls better?”
Clearly I’ve hit a nerve because he flinches. “It’s better than the dirty streets I got them from.”
“Maybe,” I say, “but only barely. You don’t think they’d do more for you if you were kinder to them.”
“Have you tried to work with addicts?”
I shake my head.
“Then you don’t know the kind of people those women are. I’m giving them a far better life than the one they had, and they’re getting drugs for free. If you asked half of them, they wouldn’t want to leave even if they were given the chance.”
“Then why keep them in cages? Can’t you at least offer them a decent living space?”
He studies me. “I suppose I could.”
Well, that has to be the first time he has actually agreed with me.
“Then maybe you should.”
He doesn’t answer that, instead, he gives me another drink and pours one for himself, also. The wine is already going to my head, and I know I need to slow down or nothing will happen tonight except me passing out.
“I’m going to sleep right here,” I say, patting the sofa.
“Have it your way,” he murmurs, his eyes roaming my face in a way that makes me nervous.
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
Alcohol makes me bold.
“Because you’re spectacular.”
His words shock me and I jerk back, quite surprised at his honesty. I knew, of course, that he finds me attractive. He has told me as much. But the way he’s saying it now, feels slightly different. Pushing to my feet, unable to form words, I go to the kitchenette and pour myself a glass of water. What I’m really doing is taking note of the knives. If I know where they are, then I won’t make any noise.
Turning back towards him, I nod at the mostly empty bottle of wine. “Is there any more of that?”
We’re not quite done yet.
He needs to be a little drunker before I’m through with him.
MY PLAN, SO FAR, HAS worked.
We drank more, and when his eyes grew glassy and everything about him seemed to soften a little, I knew that he was drunk. So, I made myself a bed on the sofa and laid down, feigning sleep, which was incredibly difficult considering I truly wanted to just fall into nothingness. He took his time, showering and getting into bed. The smell of his clean, warm skin as he moved around the RV was enough to make everything inside me clench. I dared a peek and saw his lean, muscled body as he got around with no shirt. I couldn’t help but take in the perfect way each muscle flowed onto the next, or the way his skin is so perfectly marked with ink.