Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
“How do I know you kept your promise?” I blurt out, my voice sounding too loud in the space.
We’re in the car and I’m watching his hands. They’re resting on the wheel, his fingers loosely grasping it as he drives us somewhere. I don’t know where we’re going; he of course never told me. Like the morning at the cabin, when I found him in the room, fully awake, and this time, staring at the document he made me sign. There was breakfast on the nightstand, and with a heavy look directed at me, he said we were leaving soon and I needed to be ready.
I didn’t argue with him.
I didn’t ask all the questions I wanted to ask. Like, why do I always find him sitting in a corner, awake, looking like he hasn’t slept a wink all night? What was he doing after I went to sleep? Because I think something happened. Something… that I’m afraid to think about. Not to mention, I could’ve fought him this morning. I could’ve screamed, gotten someone’s attention instead of meekly getting in the car with him.
But I kept seeing the blood spurting out of the sheriff’s arm. I kept thinking about how he could get someone killed if I didn’t obey him, and my tongue stayed tied. I unglue it from the roof of my mouth once again, and while staring at his throat-grabbing, knife-wielding, and almost-murdering but savior hands, I prod, “How do I know he…” I stop and clear my throat before continuing, “How do I know my brother’s alive?”
I watch his fingers flex on the wheel. Then, “He’s alive.”
I lift my eyes to his face, and the first thing I see is the sun’s rays hitting him and making his bronzed skin glow. The sunlight falls on his jaw, his throat, the strands of hair teasing his neck in patches, and for a second or two, all I can do is trace the patterns they create. All I can do is think about how the sun chases away the shadows created by his cap.
How he attempted to murder someone, but he’s also a savior.
“But how do I know that?” I insist, pushing those thoughts away for the millionth time. “You could be… You could be lying.”
His fingers flex again.
As if at the word lying. Then, “I was.”
“What?”
“Lying.”
“I don’t—”
“Didn’t have anyone waitin’ for him,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road. “He was fine the whole time.”
And my mouth falls open. “He was… You…”
His chest rises and falls with a breath. “Killin’ the Turner family’s not my endgame. Not anymore. I want them alive. So they can wish they were dead.”
I turn toward him fully. “So you lied to me?”
His jaw moves back and forth. “That’s what I said.”
“That’s… I don’t…” Then, with my hands fisted, I try again: “I can’t… I can’t believe you lied to me.”
His face is hard, a pulse beating in his cheek, but his shrug seems casual. “Well, I lied to you for six months. Shouldn’t really be a surprise I did it again, don’t you think?”
God, I hate him.
I absolutely fucking hate him.
I open my fists and grab the edge of the seat, biting into the leather with my nails. “So, what, if I hadn’t gotten in your car yesterday, your stupid freaking car that you kidnapped me in, and came with you to the courtroom all quietly and meekly like I did, nothing would’ve happened?”
“Something would’ve happened.”
“Like what?”
“Like me tyin’ you up and throwin’ you in the trunk of my car. And drivin’ you to the courthouse anyway.”
I think a nail breaks at this. “You—”
“I didn’t think your wrists could take the abuse,” he speaks over me. “Not yet at least, so I made a judgment call.”
I stare at him for a few seconds because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know what to say or think other than the fact that he’s insane. He’s completely insane.
“So scaring me out my mind,” I begin, glaring at him, “was your judgment call?”
“Your wrists are gettin’ better, aren’t they?”
I look down at my wrists like an idiot. And again like an idiot, I do think they look fine. The redness is still there, but the skin doesn’t look as tender or swollen as it did only a day ago. It doesn’t itch as much either.
But that’s not…
I jerk my head up. “I don’t care about my wrists. I care that you lied to me.”
“Again,” he replies, his voice all cool. “Shouldn’t be a surprise after everything.”
“Oh my God, this is—”
“Plus, it got you to get in the car, didn’t it.”
“That’s not a reason to—”
“The easy way too,” he goes on. “So all’s well that ends well.”
“No,” I snap, finally getting my bearings. “All is not well. All is fucked. All is—”