Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Bang!
I jump, and Benson ricochets back.
“The fuck?” I wheeze, looking up from where I’m on my back, seeing the mirror on the wall shattered. I drop my gaze. Rose is standing over me, a gun in her hand.
“Get up,” she hisses.
I snort my thoughts on that. Stupid me.
She fires again, this time a foot away from my shoulder, and I bring my hands up over my head protectively. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I yell.
“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding?”
I growl, getting to my feet fast, and grab her arm, and in a few fast, expert moves, disarm her. I get up in her face, and she gets up in mine, very à la Rose. “I think we need a chat when we get home.”
“Can’t wait.”
I hiss, looking at Brad and James, who are still relaxed in their seats. But I register their expressions. Too far, Danny. Principal Tucker, however, looks like he’s seen the devil. “Daniel will see you in the morning.” I lead my crazy, maddening, reckless wife out of the office, snarling at Benson as we pass. “I was having a great day until you ruined it,” I growl, marching her on. “And that fucking gun was for protection, not to use on the love of your life.”
She laughs dementedly. “And I was having a great life until you kidnapped me,” she spits back. I hold my breath and my tongue. Basically, she’s saying being beaten, raped, and whored out is better than being my wife. And it hurts, even if I know that’s exactly what she wants. To hurt me. And you can bet your bottom dollar she’ll take sex off the menu for fuck knows how long. Which sucks majorly because she only just put it back on the menu, and I was planning on indulging.
Fuck my fucking life.
31
PEARL
* * *
I tap out a message and delete it. Five times. Seems ridiculous to ask him if he’s having a good day. I know Brad. I know Danny. I know James. They might be having a great day, but whoever is on the receiving end of them won’t be.
Missing you.
I cringe at myself, deleting it. If I cringe, I definitely shouldn’t send it. Send nothing. Don’t be needy. Is it needy to want to hear from someone? And he did say he missed me. And probably cringed, I’m sure. I pull my lip ring between my teeth, laying my phone on the table and my hands on either side of it. But then it pings, and I swoop it up, my heart in my mouth. My God, I’m pathetic.
It’s been a day, gorgeous, and we’re not done yet. Can’t promise tonight’s gonna happen. Will call you when I can.
I smile, despite myself. It’s been a day. What’s he been doing? I scrunch up my face. Killing? And who? Would he kill for me?
“You came to bed late again last night,” Anya says, pulling my attention away from my new phone. She’s fiddling with her glass, trying and failing to look casual.
Think. “Oh, I fell asleep in the TV room.” I smile, awkward, and wrap my lips around my straw.
“Again.” Her eyebrows raise as she, too, has a sip of her drink. “But I checked and you weren’t in there.”
“You checked?” I sound so defensive.
“I was worried.”
“Maybe I was in the kitchen getting a drink.”
“I checked in there too.”
“Maybe I was using the bathroom.”
She smiles. “Checked there too.”
I direct my stare to my drink. “Maybe I was—”
“In Brad’s room?”
I still, my eyes widening on my glass. Shit. “I—”
“Pearl, I am not stupid.” Anya gives me a tired look, turning on her chair to face me. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, giving up on my lame bullshit excuses.
“You hate him.”
I laugh to myself. “I did,” I admit. “For a while.”
“So what happened?”
My self-restraint snapped. That’s what happened. I sigh, giving Anya my full attention. “I know what I’m doing,” I say. That’s not true at all. I have no idea what I’m doing, all I know is that I tried to leave and I couldn’t, and one week later, I’m in really fucking deep. He doesn’t know who I am. No one does. The shit won’t only hit the fan, it’ll slap it, hit it, kick it, and punch it. I want to hope Brad might step in and save me from the repercussions. No one will ever touch me again. Except him. It sounds too good to be true, because it probably is. But the past week? It’s been incredible. I’ve followed his lead and discovered my body along with Brad. And the cuddles in bed?
Safe.
Anya’s mobile interrupts me, and she sweeps it up. “Mason,” she says, getting up and walking away. I watch her, sighing, and finish my drink. My eyes fall onto Anya’s handbag on the table—or something poking out of a side zip. I tilt my head, trying to see it. Is it a driver’s license? I don’t know. Definitely not American issued, the writing foreign, so perhaps Romanian? Pursing my lips, I look at Anya. She’s near the back of the café, her back to me. I walk my fingers across the table and push a fingertip into the card, dragging it out a little. Anya’s face greets me, looking a little younger than she does now. Her heart-shaped face, her hair a bit shorter. She’s so unique looking, it’s no wonder she was taken. The only thing I can read is her name, and I laugh at how ridiculous it is that I didn’t know her surname. “Anya Dimitri,” I muse, pushing it back in her handbag. “Pretty.” I get back to my phone and reply to Brad.