Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
His heart plunges into the pit of his stomach when he sees eyes. Her eyes. “Jesus,” he whispers, taking a step closer.
“D-don’t,” Frankie’s trembling voice cuts through the silence, and the knife she has gripped in both hands shakes even more.
“Frankie—”
“Don’t!” Her voice breaks into painful syllables, wild eyes unblinking.
He stops, holding up his hands. “I won’t come any farther,” he says slowly. “I’ll stay right here. Okay?”
She doesn’t answer.
Jackson wants to kill something or someone because the woman he loves is broken. It hurts so badly to look at her; he can hardly take it.
Who the fuck did this?
His mind jumps to Archer. Is this his worst fear coming to life? Was Archer not the last one?
Jackson squats slowly, then eases onto his butt, hugging his knees to his chest, eyes on Frankie’s puffy eyes and pale face. He feels inadequate. If there’s no one to kill, he’s at a loss for the right thing to say or do. This is Jessica’s and Luke’s area of expertise. They would know what to say and what to do.
All Jackson can do is wait.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. “And I’m never going to let anything happen to you again. You’re safe. I love you, Frankie.”
Tears fill her eyes, but it doesn’t stop her from shaking. It doesn’t loosen her grip on the knife.
So he waits.
And waits.
Nearly an hour later, they’re having the same silent standoff. And he can’t help but wonder how long she’s been holed up in her house. And he doesn’t want to imagine what fucking awful thing led her to this situation.
“I’m tired,” Frankie whispers, and when she blinks, a single tear breaks free, making its way to her quivering lips. “But I can’t sleep.”
“What do you need, my love?”
“Sleep.” Her voice sounds raw and weak.
“Do you want me to carry you to your bed?”
She slowly shakes her head.
“Do you want me to take that knife and guard the door while you sleep here?”
Frankie seems to think about it for a few seconds, then, ever so slowly, she nods.
Jackson inches forward so as not to make sudden movements and holds out his hand. Frankie stares at his hand for a moment. Then, her shaky hands release the knife. It falls to the floor. Jackson carefully retrieves it, keeping his gaze locked on hers the whole time. Scooting backward, he closes the door to the closet and leans against it.
“Can I shut off the light for you?”
Again, she pauses before relinquishing a tiny nod.
“Sleep peacefully. You’re safe now. I love you.” He turns off the light.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
FRANCESCA
I don’t know how long I sleep, but I feel a little less scared when I peel open my eyes in the dark closet. Recalling why I’m in the closet takes me a few seconds. After all, I’d made progress.
I left the bedroom and fixed a bowl of oatmeal. Maybe I didn’t eat it, but leaving the bedroom intending to eat was progress. After I returned to the bedroom, I climbed into my bed. Again, I drifted in and out of a restless state of light sleep, interrupted by awful visions that startled me.
Heart pounding.
Fear surged through my body.
Wait …
Then there was a loud noise, like someone breaking into my house. I grabbed the knife under my pillow and hid in the closet. Was it just my mind playing tricks on me?
“Frankie?”
I jump, fumbling in the dark for my knife. Again, my heart pounds. Again, fear surges through my body. My labored breaths become deafening. A light illuminates. A phone screen that allows me to see the floor. A hand slowly slides my knife toward me. The closet light turns on, burning my eyes. With squinted eyes, I scramble for the knife. Clutching it in my hand, I scoot back as far into the corner as possible while my eyes adjust to the light, and Jack comes into view.
His back’s against the door, knees bent, hands at his sides.
“Hi,” I whisper.
He waits a few seconds before whispering “hi” in return.
Why is he here? I told him not to come. What am I supposed to say?
“Did you break in?” I find a weak voice.
“Yes.”
I clear my throat. “Why?”
“Because you didn’t answer your door.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because I was concerned.”
“Why?”
“Because you said you had a speaking engagement at Curtis, but when I called, they knew nothing about it.”
I don’t respond because I don’t know what to say.
“Frankie, why are you in the closet with a knife?”
“Because I heard someone breaking into my house.”
His brow tenses when he returns a slow nod. “You were really tired. You’ve been asleep for six hours. It’s almost nine p.m. Why were you so tired?” Jack’s gaze slides down my body.
I realize he’s eyeing the knife I have tightly clenched in my hands, pointed toward him. “Is Wylder here?”