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)
“Maybe so.”
All my pain threatens to come rushing out, and I don’t know if I have it in me to hold it back. The dam has too many cracks.
Eventually, it’s going to burst. “But you’ve never been like this with me. I could always count on your kindness and your compassion. You’ve always shown me light and love.”
“Ever think how exhausting that is?” he jeers, the words like ice picks in my eardrums. “Putting on a mask, having to wear it for years?”
“You’re only saying that.”
“Yeah. Tell yourself whatever you need to hear to make it easier to sleep at night.” Why is he doing this?
“This can’t all be because I got out and followed you. I only did that because I was scared.”
“Wow.” His voice is flat, grave. “Good thing nothing scary happened after that, huh?”
“Don’t do this,” I beg in a heartbroken whisper. “Please, don’t.”
His silence speaks volumes. I never understood before now that silence can feel different depending on the energy behind it.
Companionable silence, for instance, is nice. It feels comfortable, easy, peaceful. Then there’s uncomfortable, awkward silence. It’s unpleasant but not anything awful.
Then there’s the silence unfolding between us now.
It’s dark. Seething. It holds secrets, and I hate it.
I wish it didn’t feel so much like some of that anger might be directed at me. He was the one who wanted me with him, right? He made a huge deal about how critical it is to have me at his side. Now, he’s acting like he wishes he hadn’t brought me along. I guess it was one thing to want me with him before he had to do whatever it is he did. I don’t want to think about it.
You have to. You can’t pretend this isn’t happening.
There’s Dad’s voice again, even sterner than before. I know it’s the truth—there’s no burying my head in the sand. The stakes are too high for me to sit here and pretend I don’t know damn well what happened out there.
“You killed somebody, didn’t you?” I know the answer, but I need to hear him admit it. I’m not going to dance around the truth.
“What gave you that idea?” he asks in a light, almost sweet voice.
“Could you give me a straight answer?” I snap.
His heavy foot on the gas pedal makes us pick up speed until I whimper in fear. “You want a straight answer? Here’s one—I cut the bastard’s balls off while he was still conscious. He screamed loud enough to make my ears ring, then bled out all over the floor and my hands.”
He turns his gaze from the road long enough to flash me a bright smile that chills my blood. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”
“Please, slow down,” I beg when he takes a curve fast enough to make the wheels squeal. He only laughs, adding a new level of horror to this nightmare, sending my already panicked thoughts into a frenzy.
It’s not knowing what he did. I knew it had to be terrible, anyway.
It’s the glee in his voice.
“Don’t act like you don’t know your precious father has done things like that,” he taunts while I reel in horror and try not to react at the way we fly through the dark. “Or that you don’t know your brother is capable of it. I only committed the kind of act that’s in your blood. Maybe that’s why you were so desperate to sneak around behind their backs with the wrong man when you knew they’d be pissed.”
That’s the problem. I always suspected the sort of things my father orders people to do when the situation calls for it. I’m not stupid. It’s one of those things that goes without saying. There has been a lot of that in my family.
Open secrets. Knowing glances. Tessa is the only one who doesn’t get it.
But to see the blood and the crazed look on Ren’s face that turned him into a stranger?
He’s the one who made that man scream like an animal, and now I have the mental image to pair with the sound.
Was he smiling when he did it, the way he is now?
I’m supposed to share a bed with this man.
I shouldn’t have asked. The less I know, the better.
I suppose if my mother could learn to look the other way, I can too. It’s inevitable—I was always meant to marry a man from our world, and in my heart, it was always going to be Ren. There would be a time when I’d have to get used to ignoring what he does when we’re not together.
When I think about it that way, letting the idea sink into my bones, I find a little relief.
At first.
Because there’s one important difference. I’m sure of it.
Has Dad ever treated Mom like he hated her after he killed somebody? How much do I wish I could ask her, even though I know the answer? He’s never treated her as anything but a precious gift. If it meant hearing her voice and being in her gentle, loving presence again, though, I’d ask a hundred pointless questions.