Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
He cocks his head, the pinch between his brows replaced with condescension. “You are the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”
What does that mean?
“I wasn’t going to do it,” I tell him.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps a few times before my own phone dings with a notification. I reach inside my skirt, pulling it out. Opening the notification, I play the video he sent.
His brother starts to remove my clothes in the back seat of that cop car on Thanksgiving, Army’s teeth tugging at my mouth as my hands stay cuffed to the handle above the door.
The window shutter outside slams against the house hard, and I jump, about to cry. Macon watched this?
The fucking dash cam. I thought they turned it off.
He must’ve gotten the footage from the cops. Why? To protect me?
He’s already had a video of me for days.
“Why haven’t you used this?” I ask.
But he doesn’t reply.
I clench my jaw with realization. He watched this.
My chin trembles. “What if I’m not strong enough?” I ask quietly but don’t expect him to answer. “What if I give up and go home for Mars and Paisleigh? Jerome Watson is willing to pay a lot for me. What if …”
But I can’t continue.
Jerome Watson is promising a nice house and nice clothes and nice servants, and my family can keep living how they’re used to. What if I give in?
I try to find my words. “I thought … for a minute maybe it would be a good idea to use the only thing I have if it would win the Bay for you before I go. Before I let someone I hate do those things to me for the rest of my life just for lousy money.”
People screw all the time, every day. For worse reasons. I wasn’t in love with Trace or Iron. I don’t think I love Army yet. No one was going to get hurt.
But I wouldn’t have done it. I know that. I would’ve stopped if Santos hadn’t come in. I didn’t want it, and it would’ve changed the way I felt about the brothers. And the Bay.
Macon walks back to his chair, falling into it, his arms draped over the armrests.
I look at him, his eyes on the floor, deflated. No longer angry. I go to him and drop to the floor at his feet, sitting between his legs.
When he doesn’t move or push me away, I lay my head against his knee, feeling his hand come down on my hair.
I close my eyes, an electric current running through my chest.
“I’ll never do anything like that,” I tell him. “I promise.”
“If you do …” He strokes my hair. “I’m going to lock you in your room.”
A smile spreads across my face as tears spring to my eyes. I wrap my arms around his leg, and I don’t know if I’m happy he doesn’t want to see me do those things to help his family, or how he just insinuated Liv’s old room is now mine. I don’t know what I am to him, but I know he’s keeping me.
His hand shakes in my hair, and I hold him tighter, but he pulls away. “I need sleep,” he says. “I wish I could sleep.”
I look up at him, watching as he rubs his eyes. He looks so tired.
“That fucking shutter, Krisjen.” He breathes out, and I realize it’s still blowing in the wind outside. “Just go.” His voice is strained. “Go to bed.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Now.”
“Please just let me stay for a little while,” I whisper.
“Krisjen …”
“I just want to be near you.”
“Now!” he barks.
I startle and hurry to my feet. I want to stay. Nothing will happen, I just don’t want to leave him alone.
I want to be where he is.
But I’m not someone he needs. I can’t even get my own act together.
The Jaegers will be fine. They survived—flourished—long before me.
And they’ll still be here long after.
21
Krisjen
The next morning, I don’t think Macon has gotten any sleep. “Macon!” Dallas yells. “I need a shower! Come on!”
I stop, hearing the commotion inside Macon’s bedroom. Dallas stands to the right, dressed only in a gray towel as he bangs on his brother’s closed bathroom door. Army slips in around me, heading toward him. “Macon!” he calls out.
“What the hell is he doing?” Dallas gripes.
Army pounds his fist on the door three times. “Macon! Answer me!”
But there’s no reply.
I drop my work apron on the floor and enter the room, hearing the shower inside. “How long’s he been in there?” I ask.
“The shower’s been running since I got up.” Dallas pounds on the door again. “At least an hour.”
“Macon!” Army joins him, knocking hard.
My stomach coils. I jet over to his closet, rip a shirt off a wire hanger, and straighten the hook at the end, pushing the guys aside.