Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
But I didn’t know yet whether this man was someone to be grateful for.
I didn’t even know if this man was Liam.
And I didn’t think his presence was a miracle.
It was something much darker than that.
Liam’s eyes focused on my lips. I’d painted them red, and it had relaxed me some. It had given me something familiar, that constant I held onto for years when everything around me was chaos. I knew it had made me distinctive as a reporter, like it was some kind of ‘style.’ It was nothing more than survival.
Which was what it was now.
But it wasn’t that.
Not when Liam’s eyes darkened touching my lips.
“Macy is Hansen’s wife,” he said oddly.
I knew this. I’d heard of her, since Hansen pretty much left as soon as he could after club business had been wrapped up, never stayed to get blotto at the bar and never even fricking looked at any of the scantily clad girls parading around him.
I knew the club doted on Macy and their boys.
I didn’t know why Liam was bringing her up now.
“She watches the news,” he continued.
“Ah,” I said, understanding why he had a change of heart about the lipstick. “Guessing you ran into her.”
He nodded. Clenched his fists.
Silenced stretched thin over the room like not enough butter on a large piece of bread.
I vowed not to break it, despite the feeling of the feather in my hands. Despite everything.
“You came here to get a story, but you’ve found yourself in the middle of a war,” he said finally.
I didn’t waver my gaze, though it was only because of the years an instinctual reaction of fear or intimidation could mean my death. I never thought I’d have to call up a skill I perfected interviewing rebel warlords in front of the boy I used to love.
This wasn’t a boy.
It was a scarred and dangerous man I didn’t recognize.
“I’m used to wars,” I replied, voice cold.
He moved forward, quickly and smoothly so he was inhabiting all the space in front of me, and all the space inside me. “Not this one, Peaches. And not with me. This is a war you won’t be walking away from.”
Chapter Eight
I was locked in that room for another week.
A whole freaking week.
I saw no one but two prospects. One, Elden, was chattier than the other. And by more chatty, I meant when I asked his name, he grunted “Elden.”
He was the older one, with soulful demonic shadows behind his eyes.
The other was John. And I only knew that because Elden told me. ‘Telling me’ consisted of grunting the name and walking out.
John was not chatty.
He was younger.
With some shadows behind his eyes, but not enough to completely ruin him. I guessed he wasn’t talking to me because he was taking his prospecting very seriously, he didn’t want to ruin his chance for a patch by cavorting with a rat.
Like it was catching.
Things came in their three-time daily meal delivery that I knew didn’t come from them.
New sheets.
White. Egyptian Cotton. Bought by a woman.
I wondered if they were from the Macy who watched the news and who I knew I had to thank for my tube of lipstick. I was almost certain of this fact, when the next day, I was given a small bag with breakfast. It had a quote from Lord of The Rings, ‘I survived Helm’s Deep.’ That made me smile.
Macy was a total geek.
And, as it turned out, opening the bag, a total sweetheart.
It contained face wash, face and hair masks, nail polish, magazines, tampons, chocolate, slippers, and a bottle of wine. Even a glass. A proper, large and classy one too. One that I would’ve liked to have sitting in a glass cabinet in a home I might’ve lived in in another life.
Macy obviously knew I was a prisoner and was obviously trying to make captivity more comfortable.
Which she did.
Kind of.
Comfort was a dream.
This was a nightmare.
But chocolate, wine, face masks, and trashy magazines helped a little. And a little meant a lot in times like this.
I got other things.
Things I knew were from Liam.
Books. Ones only he could pick. The Valley of the Dolls. The Bronze Horseman. Shantaram. I had immediately shoved that one in the trash. Then retrieved it moments later, unable to commit that sacrilege.
I hid it under the bed instead.
As if that helped.
There was also more paper.
Packets of gummy bears.
“You know those things have horse hooves in them?” he teased, taking the packet from me.
I didn’t look up, I had a test to study for. I was well aware that my grades hinged on this test, and if I wanted to get into a university close enough to the Ivy League that Liam would no doubt be admitted to, I need to focus.
I snatched the bag back.
I also needed sugar.
“I don’t care. They are the only joy in my life right now.”