Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Letting her go.
That’s one thing I can’t give. And I’ve told her why. If she’s out there alone, Papa will get her. If she goes to the cops, some dirty bastard on Papa’s payroll will get her. But it doesn’t seem to matter to her that she’ll be killed.
The only thing that seems to matter is going. Every day that I don’t let her, her eyes become a little more haunted. Like the vulnerable girl I first met back in that tavern.
And this morning…she doesn’t go back to sleep again. Just lies against me, real quiet, for a long damn time. I know the second she realizes I’m awake because she pulls her hand back and tucks it in between us.
But it doesn’t seem like she took something off my chest. Her hand gone feels like a heavy weight pressing down on my heart.
Pressing harder when she asks softly, “Do you think I could go outside today?”
“I don’t know. You gonna try to escape?”
“Probably.”
Yeah, she will. Because it’s become a game between us—one that isn’t really a game to either of us. Every chance she gets, she makes a break for it. And my heart just fucking stops until I catch her again. I’ve had to buy a lock box for the key because she started going after it every time my back was turned. Got the door open once before I got my hands on her and wrestled her to the floor. And she was still clutching that key in her fist when her pussy was squeezing the cum from me.
“You don’t have any shoes,” I remind her. “And it’s damn cold out there.”
“I could double up a pair of your socks.”
Or I could just carry her. She wouldn’t be getting away, then. “All right. This afternoon, if it’s sunny. You need any more books? Or you want me to have them download some shows?”
Which are fine to put onto a device and bring out there, because there isn’t any wireless or a way to connect to the outside. So she’s been going through what she calls ‘comfort reads’—which seems like a whole lot of Jane Austen.
“I won’t have time to watch them,” she says, her voice going low and muffled when she presses her face into my shoulder. “Because I need to leave soon.”
That weight on my chest makes it damn hard to breathe. “I don’t give a fuck what you need. I’m not letting you go until I get some answers.”
“You haven’t even asked about Papa in two days.”
“Because there’s no point when you only pay in one way.” I haul up off the bed. “So start rubbing that pussy and get it nice and wet. Gonna fuck it real hard in a minute.”
She sits up, those emerald eyes looking so damn big. “And I’ll love how you fuck it, because you make me come so hard when you do. But then you’re going to let me go.”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because you’re a good man,” she says softly.
That bullshit ain’t worth responding to. Especially with my throat closing up so damn tight. I head into the bathroom and stand in front of the john—my eyes on level with the evidence of how bad she wants to get away from me.
More tiny scratches around the vent screws today. And the fingernails that she kept so pretty in the stables are torn down to the quick. Because there’s no fucking way she’ll get it open like that, but she keeps trying.
I haven’t said a damn thing about it, because if she’s doing this, then she’s not spending time trying to get out another way. I just don’t know what I’ll do if she starts making herself bleed.
Except I do know. I’d let her go…then follow her. Because she can’t be out there alone. Not while Papa’s hunting down anyone who might point a finger at him.
But I know damn well where she’ll be headed—straight to the cops. I’d have realized it the night of the raid if I’d known her better. Because she told me straight up that if she went to the police, I wouldn’t have to worry. She wouldn’t say anything to them about me.
And this girl, this fucking angel. She really does believe that she owes me. And she’s always taking care of me.
Hell, maybe she thinks going to the police is taking care of me, too—so I won’t end up killing another man and fucking myself up worse than I already am.
Which is sweet. Except killing Papa wouldn’t do that. I’ve never had any trouble putting down the bad guys, the garbage people who the world would be a lot better off without.
But maybe her reason for going to the cops is simpler than that—and nothing to do with me at all. She’s a real decent person. It might be that she believes in lawful justice for everyone, even for a bastard like Papa. Not the sort of justice that I intend to hand out.