Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Hardening my heart, while forcing my dick to soften, I attempt to pull my hand from Jude’s to gain my bearings. He simply tightens his hold, refusing to let me go. I can’t ignore the way my heart does a little flip.
He tugs me behind him and then leads me out of the library. We pass Wyatt, who lurks nearby like he’s been listening in on our conversation. Heat floods my cheeks. I give him an awkward wave and he simply winks at me.
Jude, undeterred by his grandpa seeing him holding another man’s hand, continues to stride forward with purpose, towing me along. We pass by the dining room and my stomach grumbles when I catch a whiff of whatever garlicky treat Violet is preparing for lunch. Jude practically drags me up the stairs as I scramble to keep up with his long legs.
At the top of the landing, he pauses and glances over his shoulder. His eyes are electric behind his mask. I’m more curious than ever before about the man who hides beneath.
“It’s this way,” he says, turning and striding away once more. “Through my office.”
He pauses to pull open a desk drawer and then retrieves a bona fide skeleton key. A shiver of anticipation quivers down my spine.
“Not your captive?” I say jokingly. “Right.”
He chuffs—a possible laugh from the big guy—and then proceeds to open the closet door in his office all the while keeping his vise-like grip on my hand.
The door swings open. I wait for bats to fly out or dead bodies to thump to the floor. Nothing so sinister awaits. Actually, all that awaits is another set of stairs.
“The attic?”
Rather than answer, he starts his trek up the steep stairs. We reach another landing with a long hallway resembling the floor we were just on. It’s kind of creepy to me they have a whole other floor just locked away.
“At the other end is another set of stairs that go all the way down to the kitchen,” Jude reveals without looking my way. “It stays locked, though. I’m the only one with the key.”
I’m not sure why, but that statement has the hairs on my arms standing on end. Paranoia creeps in. Maybe this is all some great plan to get me alone so he can lock me away forever.
Why, though?
My nosy cat darts past us, having followed us here, and meows in annoyance. This settles my nerves a bit. If I’m going to be trapped, at least Funky will be here to entertain me.
We stop in front of an opening that leads to another dark pocket of this haunted-looking decrepit mansion. Jude pauses before we enter, standing before me, his massive frame towering over mine. There’s a window up here at least. I can climb out if he really does lock me up.
“What is this place?” I murmur. “Or, better yet, what is this place to you?”
His head cocks to the side in the eerie way of his that makes me think I’m in a psychological thriller, further sending my nerves buzzing with fight-or-flight energy.
He finally releases my hand. Tension roils off him in waves. I’m rooted in place, waiting for answers to questions I may never get.
Finally, he sighs. “This is where I spent the first few years. After…”
“After your mom died?” I encourage.
He winces and gives me a clipped nod. “It’s so isolated and quiet up here. I needed the space and solitude to survive. It was touch and go for a bit.”
“Touch and go how?”
“I hardly ate. Was depressed as fuck. Woke up every day wanting to slash my goddamn wrists open and die. It was more than an ideation. I tried a time or two but was too fucking cowardly to finish the job.”
His angrily spat out words feel like acid on my heart. Knowing he was hurting so much he attempted suicide wounds deep. He was devastated and his soul ached. The pain he felt must’ve been overwhelming and immense.
I need to see him.
All of him.
To tell him he’s worthy of happiness and love.
That he has a family who cares about him deeply.
I want to do this while touching his cheeks and looking at his lips.
He tenses when I reach up. My hand visibly trembles. I touch the edge of his mask, earning me a hitch of his breath. As my finger slips beneath it, his scruff tickling my flesh, he grabs onto my forearm to stop me.
“Don’t.” His word is croaked out. Not demanding and fierce. It’s a plea, desperate and raw. “Please.”
I ache to rip it away and see him—all of him—ugly scars and everything.
My curiosity can wait, though. He’s letting me in, despite this morning’s tantrum, and I’m not going to jeopardize that.
Funky meows at my feet, having explored enough, and I reluctantly drop my hand. Breaking our stare, I squat to pick up my cat. Jude clears his throat and then walks into the opening that leads to a small room. It’s cozy with an extremely dated sectional couch with patched and repaired fabric, an old TV from the ’80s or ’90s, and a record player sitting on top of the TV. There are dusty, built-in shelves in the room lined with old records. The one and only window is small, round, and made of stained glass.