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)
“My folks died when I was twelve. And my younger brother only wanted to eat applesauce like our ma used to make it. Since my older brother took over the ranch and our cook couldn’t get it right no matter how hard she tried, I was the only one left.” His lips tip up but there’s no humor in his tiny smile as he continues, “Apparently, Ma used to put a pinch of cloves in it and for some goddamn reason, no one could figure it out except me. Everyone kept puttin’ cinnamon in it and Ax kept throwin’ away the bowl. So I guess I learned cooking a long time ago.”
I try to swallow, but something feels stuck in my throat.
I didn’t know about that. I mean, I knew about the Grayson family. I knew there are three Grayson brothers and that the oldest is the head of the family. Which means their parents must have passed. I think they died in a car accident, now that I recall. But I never thought of it in these terms. In the terms of three boys losing their parents when they were really nothing more than boys. Three boys learning to live their lives again.
Twelve years old is too young to be doing something like that; I know. I was doing something similar: cooking and cleaning up, bandaging my mother’s wounds, trying to disappear the rest of the time.
“I didn’t know,” I say lamely.
His eyes had moved over to the fire, but now they come back to me. “Now you do.”
I lick my lips. “I always…”
He watches me do it before taking a deep breath and asking, “You always what?”
I blush and squirm in my seat. “All I’ve heard are horror stories. About the Graysons. About how all Graysons are criminals. How they’ll do anything to take our land. Steal, cheat.” I swallow. “Kill.”
He keeps his gaze locked on me. Unblinking and intense. I wish he’d look away, though. Just so I’ll have some reprieve. But I don’t think he’s going to give me that mercy.
“All true,” he murmurs at last.
“But the Turners would do that too,” I jump to say.
They would.
It’s not one-sided; I know they’re not the good guys. I knew it when I was living with them, and I know it now that I haven’t been to Black Rock in years. I want nothing to do with that place anymore. A place made of land wars and family feuds and abusive fathers.
“What’s your point?” he asks, breaking into my thoughts.
I have absolutely no idea what my point is. Except that I don’t think the Graysons are as monstrous as I’ve made them out to be.
Which is a ridiculous and dangerous line of thought. I cannot think this way. I cannot warm up to them. I don’t even know them other than what I’ve been told all my life. I don’t want to know them. Or humanize them. Besides, shouldn’t it be the other way around? I’m the captive.
“What’s your younger brother’s name?” I ask, cursing at myself because didn’t I just decide to not do this anymore?
Before I can take back my question, he replies, “Axton.”
“How old is he?”
“Just turned eighteen.”
“And your older brother is Marsden, right?”
“Right.”
“How old is he?”
“Forty.”
“How old are you?”
“This twenty questions?”
“No, this is me getting to know the family I was forcibly married into,” I say with my eyebrows raised. Although, inside, I’m still going What the fuck.
He keeps watching me as he throws back, “Old enough to say this is past your bedtime so you should go to sleep. We’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
“But I thought you wanted me to have an adventure,” I retort, pasting a sweet smile on my face.
Which he takes in before something passes over his features and he takes a deep breath. “I did, didn’t I.”
“Yup,” I reply, popping the p at the end. “So then—”
“So then,” he cuts me off and repeats my words. “How about you tell me a little about your family?”
I pause. Then, “What?”
“We’re married, aren’t we?” he says, his lips turning up a bit, but again, I don’t think there’s any humor in it. “So I should get to know them too.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You already know everything about them.”
He nods his head slowly, accepting my words. “So then how about I get to know your best friend?”
This time my voice is higher and squeakier. “What?”
“Does she suck at sociology too?”
“I don’t… What?”
“What about adventure?”
“What about it?”
“Does she like adventure or is she boring like you?”
“I’m not boring.”
“Boring. Careful. Same thing.”
“It’s—”
“Bet she’s never read a book in her life.”
“Are you implying my best friend is illiterate?”
“No. I’m implyin’ your best friend knows how to have fun.”
I don’t know where he’s going with this. Or why it would even enter his brain to talk about my best friend. But I know that I need to venture carefully. Very, very carefully. I can’t show fear. I can’t raise suspicion.