Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 104919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
I jutted my chin up. “Your grandma wanted a photo.”
His eyes flared, whether in fury of the response or the fact I wasn’t cowering or submitting. “You do realize that fucking photo could get you dead?” he hissed. “Could put my entire fucking family in danger? I know you realize that because you’re smart. But you just can’t fucking help yourself.”
It was all back in those words. The resentment, the hatred.
“I couldn’t say no to Harriet,” I protested, covering my hurt with some resentment of my own. “I want her to like me.” I hadn’t meant to say the last part, but it slipped out.
Duke’s face changed ever so slightly. The anger slipped, almost fell right off his face, before he got hold of it. He leaned in even closer, so our faces almost touched, lips almost brushed. “She doesn’t need to like you,” he whispered. “None of them do. You’re not here to make a good impression on my family. You’re here to stay alive. You’re here until the trial. Then you go. You’re never going to see them again, so it doesn’t matter who the fuck likes you.”
He hovered close to me for a second longer, to make his point, to make sure his words hit the mark.
Satisfied, he stepped back and left me standing in the middle of the room. Alone with the words. With the truth. The pain.
The smart thing would’ve been to stay in the room.
Well, no.
The smartest thing would’ve been to pack my bag and fucking hitchhike off this damn ranch, even though there was a high chance a crime lord could locate me and murder me so I couldn’t testify against him.
I was a survivor.
I liked my odds at figuring out a way to stay alive outside of this situation because it was quickly becoming more dangerous than being on the run.
It might’ve been my dramatic nature to think that.
Yes, it might’ve been dramatic, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like a noose tightening around my neck, having to act like I had a connection with Duke in front of his family, having to act like he was nothing more than a man employed to protect me.
Which was the lie?
I couldn’t tell.
Hence me not staying in the room.
And not running either.
Well, not off the ranch at least.
But far enough so I could breathe.
I didn’t run into anyone on my escape, thanks to the size of the house and the fact everyone was doing other things. It was a good thing too, since I feared I might break down in tears, or worse, tell the truth to whichever of Duke’s family I encountered.
I veered away from the outbuildings, the barn, and what I now knew were the ranchers’ quarters. I walked in the direction of the horizon, hoping it might somehow swallow me up, or at least suck away all of this pain.
I walked for a while until my already aching muscles protested. But I didn’t stop.
The air smelled of dirt, of sunshine, of something I couldn’t describe.
There was nothing, as far as the eye could see. Nothing but nature. Mountains. The ranch was a speck in the distance. It was a surprise that I hadn’t encountered anyone on my escape. But not really, I guessed. People weren’t milling around waiting to become a secondary character in my story. I wasn’t the center of the world here.
I was like the ranch, a speck. Life went on. There were things to do. I hadn’t been here long enough to understand the kind of life that Duke’s family lived, but I knew it was hard, simple, which didn’t make much room for drama.
Pretty much the opposite of my life.
It showed me how empty my life was, despite the fact that every second of my days used to be accounted for, scheduled. I “worked” as much as they did, but not in the same way.
I had no family.
No true friends, except Andre.
There would be millions who’d mourn if I died, candlelight vigils, countless social media posts, news stories.
But no one would grieve after the news cycle was done.
That was not the case with Duke’s family.
The family that I had been weak enough to let myself think I was a part of. After one day. One fucking day and I’d let myself believe the act, let myself fall just a little for all of them. How could I handle the months this might turn into?
I hadn’t noticed that I’d sunk down to my knees, but it made sense, since I was feeling so fucking temporary, I needed the permanence of the dirt. I needed to feel connected to the earth, to something more than me.
Which was no excuse for sinking so far into self-pity I didn’t realize that it wasn’t only career criminals that were trying to kill me. There were other things out here in the world that didn’t care what I’d witnessed, only that I was trespassing on land I didn’t know.