Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 628(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
It is surprisingly generous of him to offer room and board.
“And if Sam returns with the watch before the year is up, I keep whatever salary I’ve earned for the duration.”
His eyes narrow. “Fair enough. But when you work for me, you do as I say—no questions asked, no holding this little agreement over my head. You own it.”
This is real. A cold sweat breaks over me, my lips going numb. I concentrate on breathing through my nose and trying not to be sick.
“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” he says, way too pleased. “The thought of being subservient to me.”
“What was your first clue, Detective?”
His grin is all teeth and anticipation. “I’ll own you, Delilah. For one year, your ass will be mine.”
Good Lord, he says it like he relishes the idea. Like he has plans for me. The little hairs along the back of my neck stand up and quiver. My fingers curl into a fist. “I’ll work for you. You won’t own shit.”
“Good as,” he counters.
“If you’re trying to run me off, it won’t work.”
“Better you do it now than three weeks into it.”
Like Sam.
I wish I knew how to read Macon better. He barely gives anything away that he clearly doesn’t want me to see. But there are things I have to know. “Anything happen between you and Sam?”
Right now, he might as well be a wall of granite. “You think I was fucking her? I don’t know why you’d care either way.”
“I don’t. But if this is some sick game of revenge between the two of you, I want to know about it now.”
Leaning forward, he rests his good arm on the desk. The movement isn’t exactly slow, but it lacks his usual grace, and I wonder how much his injuries pain him. “I wouldn’t touch your sister while wearing a hazmat suit. She’s her own level of toxic. I learned that long ago.”
He isn’t wrong, but I’m surprised that he is aware of Sam’s faults and that he has actually voiced them to me. “That’s an unkind thing to say about your childhood sweetheart.”
He blinks at that as though I’ve surprised him too. But the stoic expression remains. “I never considered her my sweetheart.” The ice in Macon’s eyes thaws just a bit as he studies me. “Last chance, Delilah. Call it off, and we’ll both pretend it never happened.”
“I can’t.” It comes out a sad little husk of sound.
He blinks, and his expression goes oddly blank. “I can’t either.”
God. I can’t believe I’m doing this. That I’m pushing it. “Then what else is there to talk about?”
He shakes his head with a tired sound. “I’ll give you a couple of hours to come to your senses. Say, until midnight?”
It’s a kindness I don’t expect. It’s also fairly cruel, as it would be easier to jump without thinking.
“Fine.” I push to my feet. I need to get out of this beautiful house and away from this man. I need my bed and a good sleep before I can pull myself back together.
CHAPTER FIVE
Delilah
I’m searching for a silver lining. On my ceiling. Not the best plan, of course, but it’s all I got. I can’t do this. I can’t.
Yes, you can.
I try to think about laying down my pride and being under Macon’s thumb. And . . . can’t.
MamaBear: Delilah, this is your mother.
DeeLight: I know. I have your number programmed.
I have no idea what she wants, but since I’m not getting any sleep and have been staring at my ceiling for the past few hours, any distraction is welcome.
Yes, well. I tried to call Samantha. She isn’t answering her phone.
Under the cocoon of my covers, I flinch. This wasn’t the distraction I had in mind. With a sinking gut, I try to think of what to say that won’t cause my mother to panic.
Mama, it’s the middle of the night. Maybe she’s asleep. Why aren’t you?
I’m in my sixties and live alone. I never sleep. I watch HGTV and plot my girls’ weddings.
Maybe that’s why she isn’t answering.
Delilah Ann, stop trying to distract me. That’s why you called before, wasn’t it? You were looking for her because Sam has run off again, hasn’t she?
Well, hell. It’s one thing to gently query my mother about Sam. It’s another when my mother actually starts to worry. I had hoped she wouldn’t put two and two together.
It would seem so.
The phone rings in my hand. I’d been expecting it but still dread answering. “Hey, Mama.”
“Oh, that girl,” she says with exasperation. “Why is she always doing this?”
“I don’t know. I only know that she’ll eventually slink back.” And if she doesn’t, I’ll be completely screwed.
She sighs. “There are nights when I wake up terrified I’ll get a call telling me Sam has been arrested or has met a bad end.”