Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Yes. Everything okay down there?”
“Yes. Stay at the door, keep the gun ready. Watch your surroundings.”
“I am. I will.”
She’s brave. She’s strong. She’s capable of more than she realizes, but I see it. I have always seen that in her. I have always been drawn to that in her. Holstering my weapon, I walk past a row of cabinets and stop at the desk next to them where I pull on the gloves I left there earlier. Next, I open a drawer and pull out a filled syringe that will shoot adrenaline into Edward and wake his ass up. Easing closer to Edward, I nudge him with my foot, but he doesn’t move. I repeat, and fuck, he’s stiff. I kneel down and check for a pulse, grimacing as I do. He’s dead. I turn him over, and the foam at his mouth tells me all I need to know. He drugged himself. I was right. He came here with a death wish. Why the fuck did this man, who was all about control, have a death wish?
I stand up and scrub my jaw. What did he know that he didn’t want me to know? And why the fuck come here if that were the case? I’d like to think that this is it. That he was our only enemy. That he’s dead, and it’s over, but that doesn’t feel right.
“Aaron?!”
“I’m fine, baby,” I call out. “Stay where you are.”
We’re sitting ducks here, but we can’t leave until this blizzard over. According to the forecasts, that’s another six hours. I scan the basement and then start a second search to backup the one I performed earlier, hoping I’ve missed something, but I haven’t. There’s nothing here that tells me anything helpful. I pull off the gloves and toss them on the ground. I’m burning this place to the ground when I leave. The gloves are irrelevant.
Ashley waits anxiously for me at the top level. “That was fast. You didn’t wake him up?”
“He took poison,” I say, taking the gun from her hands and shoving it in my waistband. “He’s dead.” I shut the basement door.
She gasps and covers her mouth. “Oh my God. You were right. He had a death wish.”
I was right, and yet, all of this feels really damn wrong. I pull the table into place. “Let’s eat and then try to get some rest.”
“Rest? How do we rest with a dead man downstairs?”
“With the guns by our sides in the living room by the fireplace.” I turn on the oven and walk to the freezer, grabbing the pizza. “Pizza and sleep, baby. We need to be fresh when the storm ends.”
She sighs and opens a cabinet, digging around. “No cookie sheet. So I guess we eat frozen pizza baked on the rack and pretend we might not die at any moment, right?” I open the box, and she grimaces. “Seriously? Frozen pepperoni pizza and a dead man in one night? I can’t take it.”
I laugh. God, I love this woman. “I promise to kiss it and make it better.”
“The pizza or me?”
“You, baby. Always you. Dig around and try to find us some extra blankets and pillows, will you?”
“You think you can handle that pizza on your own?”
I wink. “I might eat it on my own if you leave me alone too long, and this is one lonely pizza.”
“Luckily, it’s still frozen. You won’t eat it that way.”
“Want to bet on that? I’m fucking starving. You do remember how much I can eat, right?”
Her eyes soften, emotions flickering in their depths. “Yeah, I remember. I remember everything.” She turns away before I can respond and rushes into the living room. I sigh and shove my hands on the counter. Everything is a loaded word. Everything includes lies and a stupid fucking marriage proposal that should have waited, but I can’t fix any of this until I ensure she’s safe.
I place the pizza in the oven and wait for Ashley’s return. When that doesn’t happen, I don’t push her. I give her room to breathe on her own when what I want is for her to walk back into this room and tell me she gets it, that she understands everything, but that doesn’t happen. When the damn pizza is done, I pull it from the oven, silently vowing to make this cardboard dinner up to her, right along with everything else. I grab the food and two bottles of water before heading to the living room.
Ashley is on the couch, facing the fireplace, her gun in front of her on the table as the wind whistles angrily outside the cabin. She chose to stay here rather than help me in the kitchen. That’s not her. That’s not us, but that’s the problem, I decide, thinking about that interaction in the kitchen. She’s afraid to relax into us, and how can I expect her to here and now?