Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why do you want this to be a regular thing?” he asks.
Which is fine.
It’s not as if his question is out of the ordinary.
Although I will say that it’s slightly weird. I mean, why wouldn’t I want this to be a regular thing for him? I want good things for him. I want him to have a good relationship with his brother. Who from what I’ve come to gather is trying really hard to make amends. He’s trying really hard to be friends with his younger brother whom he — inadvertently — abandoned while growing up.
But that’s not the issue here.
The issue is his tone and the look on his face.
It’s flat.
Blank. Or very carefully crafted to appear so.
I haven’t seen him do this in weeks now. Not since he came to get me in the woods.
So it gives me pause, his demeanor.
Still, I push through. “Uh, because he’s your brother. And I think he cares about you. And I think you care about him too. And I know what you’re going to say now. I know you’re going to deny it. But you do. And that’s because you didn’t leave. You wanted to quit working for your brother but you didn’t. You’re actually doing the work. You brought in your work the other day, when you came to see me, remember? Those files and stuff that you’d brought with you.”
He did.
A few days ago, Reign came in with a bunch of files.
I’d thought we’d go out like we usually do but he said he needed to read up on it and write a report — his words were, “a motherfucking report” — and so we’d stayed in. He said that the only way he could ever read these boring files — “coma-inducing piece of shit files” — was if I was there with him and if he got to look at my pretty face.
So that’s what we did.
He looked at my pretty face, along with occasionally — okay, frequently — kissing me and making me do things, like inch my nightie up to show him my panties; take my panties off so he could smell them and spin them around his large, dusky finger. While he wrote his report.
And while I was reading, when he’d let me.
It was the most fun I’d had reading.
Plus it led to the most mind-blowing sex ever.
“You hated writing that report. But that’s even better,” I point out. “Because even though you hated it, you were still doing it for your brother. That’s called being a good brother. That’s what family does for each other.”
Finally, he gives me a reaction.
A twitch in his brows. “Why though?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I… do.”
Another reaction.
Him moving toward me. Taking a small step but somehow it feels big.
Somehow it feels threatening.
And that doesn’t make sense.
“That’s not an answer, is it?” he says, his eyes flickering with something that I don’t understand.
I’m not proud of it but I do take a step back then.
Again, it’s the tone. It’s his demeanor.
“Reign, I —”
“How about I ask you something else?”
“What?”
“Something that you may have an answer for.”
“Reign, what’s going on? What are you —”
“Did you?” he asks, taking another step forward.
And I hate it but I move back. “Did I what?”
For several seconds, he simply stares at me. He simply roves his reddish-brown eyes all over my face, my body, my pink nightie, my loosened braid.
And it’s not as if he hasn’t done this before.
It’s not as if he hasn’t looked me over a million times since I’ve known him. But he’s never done it how he’s doing it right now.
He’s never done it with raw, unadulterated hatred.
And that’s saying something because for the longest time I thought he hated me. For the longest time I thought his gazes were cruel and cold.
They weren’t.
Not until tonight.
“Reign, what’s —”
“Did you text?”
“What?”
His eyes grow even harsher. “Him. Did you text him?”
“Text w-who?”
“Your boyfriend.”
And then I know.
I know why he’s looking at me like that. And what’s happening here.
Because he knows.
I think he knows everything. Every single thing.
Despite it being completely inadvisable, I go, “Ex-boyfriend.”
His fists clench and he takes another step forward.
This time, however, I hold my ground.
Even though this last step was the most threatening and dangerous of all the others that came before.
“Did you or did you not,” he says, his words biting, “text him?”
“I —”
“Did you or did you not blow up his fucking phone with texts?”
“Reign, I —”
“Did you or did you not go behind my fucking back and blow up his fucking phone with texts, Echo?”
I raise my hand. “Reign, listen —”
“Did you,” he leans down then, his eyes fiery, “or did you not, Echo?” He doesn’t give me time to say anything at all and keeps going, “Go behind my fucking back when you knew you were mine. When I specifically told you that you were mine. When you fucking promised me that you were mine. Did you do that or —”