Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
I pressed my quaking lips together as Jesse squeezed his jaw, the pain in his eyes mimicking my own as he finished. “He said you needed to figure out your life on your own without my controlling ass taking over, but I can't watch anymore. I won't.” He glanced over his shoulder, then sighed. Turning, he pulled open a long door on a wooden cabinet to reveal a row of ten small security monitors. “You set off the alarm when you left the back room. You’re the only other person that has a key to my office. When you punched in your code wrong twice to turn off the alarm, the system called me. I watched your little drinking session from home. You’re killing me, Kat. Killing. Me.”
Did his voice just crack?
“So what? What does it matter? You gonna have me arrested? Trespassing? Theft? Do whatever you want. I’m going.” The muscles in my core spasmed, and I pushed up, taking a moment to balance myself, praying I could stand and take the few steps to the door.
“Where?”
Two steps forward I stalled, considering his one-word question.
Where?
Where could I go? What was I going to do? Spend a few more nights with Jenette, if she'd even have me, and then...
Where?
"I don't know." The honesty in my reply dug its claws into my ravaged heart, and the control I’d clung to for so long left me weeping.
My legs gave way like overcooked egg noodles, and I fell against the door in a heap. I had nothing left. Until Kent had died, I'd had two brothers watching out for me, one by blood and one by choice. Now I'd just lost the only family I had left.
I knew I should go and stop making his already difficult life more difficult, but I had no idea how. I didn't have the strength. Not even the strength to stand.
Jesse moved like a bullet from a gun as he came around the desk and caught me, his thick fingers encircling my arms, his biceps bulging out of his trademark white t-shirt. I looked into his black eyes as he towered above me, his calm demeanor only that much more intimidating. At least if he had lost control, yelled back at me, screamed and told me to fuck off, then the playing field would be even.
Instead, his calm was like glass, not a hint of sweat on his brow as I watched the movement of the tendons flexing and stretching in his thick, perfect forearms. His grip wasn't gentle. It wasn't loving.
It was hard, and painful, and it calmed me to know he would never let me go.
I instinctively gripped his steel-like wrists. The deep carved granite of his expression didn't change, but I sensed something new. Something different surrounded by pain and sorrow.
He even smelled different.
“Let me go,” I choked, in one last-ditch effort at self-sabotage, squeezing my fingers around his wrists tighter. "You need to let me go, Jesse. Haven't I ruined your life enough?"
“You’re the one that needs to let go,” he rumbled back.
All the years of looking at him, dreaming about him, wanting him like a star-struck little girl exploded inside me. I knew I could never have him in the way I wanted. He was too much, too big for this world and for a broken, thick-hipped girl with no family and no future. With every ounce of my being, I wanted to disappear and never be found, especially not by him.
I couldn't endure the way he was looking at me and not want more.
I felt the slight loosening of his fingers around my arms, and something broke loose inside me. I took full advantage, pulling back one hand, and with every piece of my bitter, empty soul, I screamed. My fingers curled into talons and I clawed at him, opening up three bloody, angry streaks in his chiseled face.
He didn’t flinch.
"Things are gonna change, and you’re gonna fall in line. I promise you, on your brother's grave, I will take care of you. I will give you a better life. But you have to trust me and do shit my fucking way. No more punk ass shit like you pulled last night. That’s not the Kat I know. That’s not the Kat I've loved.”
He took a deep breath, but that word was spinning around and around in my head.
Loved.
He said loved.
Surely he meant it like a brother loves his little sister. Surely it didn't mean what my heart desperately wanted it to mean.
“Why the fuck do you think I hang around this shithole?" he went on, as if my world hadn't just exploded. "I got eight other businesses, and I spend 95% of my time here. Why do you think that is?”
His dark eyes narrowed, and heat began to rise up and off my body as I stared at the welts I'd ripped open in his face. Why had I done that? Why would anyone love me after that?