Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
He lowers his head, dark hair falling forward. His shoulders still heave, and even from a short distance, I can hear his labored breathing.
The blood.
His hands are coated in it like he dipped them in a bucket filled to the brim.
“You were supposed to stay in the Jeep.” He doesn’t even sound like himself, though I know it’s him.
My Ren, only he isn’t right now.
He’s about the furthest thing imaginable.
Drip… drip… drip…
I can’t take my eyes off it. The sound of each drop plinking against the floor is so much louder than it ought to be.
What has he done?
“Scarlet,” he barks, drawing my attention. “Go back to the Jeep. Right fucking now.” The rage in his voice causes it to shake slightly. I begin backing away, finally forcing myself to turn around, so I no longer have to see the blood-covered hands that caressed my body only hours ago.
My feet threaten to get tangled in each other as I stumble frantically toward the glowing light from the Jeep, arms outstretched like I’m reaching for it. Like that will help get me there faster.
It doesn’t matter. I have to get there. I’ll be safe once I’m inside.
Yet the instant my fingers close around the door handle, my stomach gives a sudden lurch, and a rush of vomit pours from my mouth, splattering across the ground at my feet.
Like the blood splattering on the floor.
Oh god. That memory makes my stomach lurch again.
A fresh wave of bitter, acidic nastiness hits the ground, and when I lift my head, I can hardly keep the world from spinning around me. I’m hanging on to the door for dear life, touching my cheek to the cool metal. Anything to ground myself again. To drag me back to the present.
Slowly, the nausea passes, and I can breathe without a hitching, wheezing sound in my chest.
There’s no pretending I didn’t see it. Hear it. I can’t erase it from my memory, no matter how I wish I could. Why did I get out of the car? Why didn’t I stay here?
The piercing scream replays in my mind. Ren was the cause of that scream, the blood on his hands further evidence. I squeeze my eyes shut, but that doesn’t help. Nothing will.
“So the pampered mafia princess tosses her cookies at the sight of blood.”
Fuck.
I didn’t hear him coming, deafened by the pounding of my heart and the scream echoing in my memory. I’m afraid to look at him. I’m afraid not to.
Raising my head might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
At least, until I force myself to look at him, terrified at the possibility of what I’ll find.
The first thing I notice is his washed hands. Strange how that’s the first thing to come to mind when my gaze passes over the fists hanging at his sides.
He lifts an eyebrow over eyes as hard as flint.
“Well? Aren’t you glad you disobeyed?” I can’t speak, my tongue weighing a million pounds. “Did it ever occur to you that there was a reason to keep your ass inside the car? That maybe you might discover something you didn’t want to discover?”
Before I can answer—not that there’s an answer to be offered—he takes my arm and all but shoves me inside, then slams the door hard enough to rattle my bones. He’s muttering nastily to himself as he walks around to the driver’s side, then slams the door after shoving himself into his seat.
“Are you happy? Aren’t you glad you came?” He barks out a cruel laugh as he turns the Jeep around. “It’s a shame you didn’t come in sooner. If you thought a little blood was worth puking over.”
“Stop it.” I must be imagining this.
It can’t be real. He’s being so cruel, so hateful. This isn’t like him.
“Or what?” he taunts. “I thought I warned you once before about telling me what to do.”
“This isn’t like you.” I shake my head, adamant, staring out the window at the trees rushing past. They might look beautiful under different circumstances, but now they’re creepy. The shadows they cast hide too many secrets.
“What isn’t like me?” He’s snide, almost laughing at me. I don’t know what’s worse—the sound of it or the way resentment flares white hot, searing my insides with rage. I never would’ve imagined resenting him.
But it isn’t Ren I resent. It’s whatever has taken hold of him. This obsession of his. What it’s doing to him. He’s all twisted up by this cult stuff. Revenge appears to be the only thing he cares about.
“You were never mean before.” When all he does is snort, it seems very important to make myself clear. I need him to understand what I’m saying. I have to get through to him somehow.
“How do you know? I might’ve been mean all this time. I could’ve been a real bastard, and you just never saw it.”