Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
He grins at me and whispers back, “I haven’t forgotten that spanking you earned.”
“No pardon granted for saving your life?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
My body tingles and I want him to do more than kiss me right here, right now, but we’ve got a job to do. I know he feels the same when he groans and pulls away from me with obvious reluctance.
He puts his mouth up to my ear and whispers, “There’s a knife under my pillow. Use it.” Then he’s on his feet, his face contorted in anger.
“That’s it!” he says, so loudly I jump, I know this is part of the act, but I still don’t like the way it feels when he’s yelling at me like this. “I told you not to go out there. I told you not to leave the food. And you did it anyway. I’m out of here.” He won’t look me in the eyes, and I hate how that makes me feel. He turns from me and stalks toward the door, wrenches it open, and stands in the doorway looking at me.
“Go then! You only think of yourself anyway!” I scream, trying to come up with some kind of reason for our fake fight. I feel the lie in those words though. He isn’t selfish at all. He’s been so good to me. I swallow the lump in my throat that’s threatening to choke me. He isn’t selfish, and I love him.
“You can stay here. I’m out of here. You think you can fend for yourself? Fine then. Do it!”
And then he’s gone. Even though he’s acting, this feels more real than I imagined. It feels… God, awful.
I pace around the cabin, keeping up my end of the facade.
“Stupid jerk,” I mutter. “I don’t need him anyway.” I pace around, saying all sorts of crazy ass stuff, when I hear someone coming toward me from the woods. It isn’t Cy. I can tell just by the footfall that it isn’t him. I shiver. Someone’s coming toward me. Whoever it is, they’re falling for the trap.
I pace near the bed and look where the makeshift “pillows” lie.
There’s a knife under my pillow.
I quickly lift the pillow and remove the knife, sliding it under my dress and into my bra, when I hear footsteps drawing closer to the hut.
I turn around slowly, my stomach knotted with fear. I stifle a scream when I see a heavily bearded man who does not meet Will’s profile in the doorway. He’s lanky and lean, his once-blond hair matted and filthy. Encrusted with dirt, his clothes are little more than rags. And his eyes. God, his eyes look ready to kill.
“Get out!” I scream, brandishing my knife. He doesn’t even look at it but steps in the room anyway.
“I said get out!” I repeat, but he keeps coming at me. “If you come any closer, I’ll kill you!”
He still doesn’t stop.
I have no choice. Oh God, I have no choice.
With a growl, he reaches for my wrist, but I deflect him, and jab at him. This time, the blade catches his hand. Crimson blood spurts out from where I sliced at him, and he howls in agony. I ignore the scream and strike again.
And again.
And again.
I’m screaming, and I can’t seem to stop. My hand is covered in red blood, but the man is still coming at me when Cy barrels though the doorway. With a ferocious roar, he lunges at the guy, tackling him to the floor. The man’s head hits the ground with a sickening thud, and he passes out.
“Is he dead?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Is he?”
Scowling, he lifts his wrist and feels for a pulse. “No,” he says. “Unfortunately, not. But I saw which direction he came from. We need to see if Will is with him. Let’s go.”
We tie him up with long, supple leaves that work almost as well as rope, and leave him outside our door. I follow Cy back to the cave where we stayed the first night I was here.
“He came from the hill, which can only mean he’s been using the cave as a shelter,” he says.
I nod. But as we draw near, I freeze.
“Cy,” I whisper, pointing a shaking finger toward the cave, to where another man’s mutilated body lies in a sickening heap. “Oh, God,” I say on a sob. He reaches for me and draws me close. “Don’t look, babe,” he says. “Don’t. There’s shit you don’t want to see.” He sighs. “And that was Will. He must’ve been killed by Derek.”
I nod. “Why?” I whisper. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not about fairness, Harper, but survival. And the better question is, how is Derek even alive still? I’m telling you, he was dead.”
I shudder. “No idea. We should go back and make sure he hasn’t done anything dangerous to himself or our shelter.” But as we’re about to turn away, something black catches my eye. Something that seems so out of place, I’m not sure what to make of it at first.