Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Maybe he truly got bored, and he’s now here to finish the job.
I shouldn’t feel relief about the possibility of death, but I’d rather face that than being the subject of Jude’s suffocating fixation.
He stares down at me with unhinged focus, as if he’ll miss whatever he’s reading on my face if I blink. “Who wants you dead, Violet?”
I mumble against the glove and shake my head, but he doesn’t remove his hand.
“Who else did you do wrong with that innocent act and those hollow fucking smiles?”
“Mmm.”
“But you can’t die when I haven’t allowed it yet. The only one who gets to cut your lifeline is me. Your fucking god.”
I’m trembling, my ass rubbing uncomfortably against his jeans.
No, not uncomfortably.
I feel weird whenever he looks at me with that intensity, as if he’s stripping me naked and looking at my unsightly body.
A chilling realization settles through me—the reason for my unease around Jude isn’t only because of fear; it’s the shards of something foreign beneath the fear.
“So next time you’re being shot at, you don’t stand up and try to be a savior. You fucking hide, do you hear me?”
My eyes widen.
“I’ve seen the footage from the security cameras and your feeble attempts at being a superhero.” He releases my mouth, then slides his hand down and wraps it around my throat. Not enough to choke, but it’s firm enough to not allow me to move. “Too late for that, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” I whisper, my voice slightly low.
“What?”
“Well, you might make me watch you torture and kill people if I let Mario die. You seem to think people are all courageous and can act when faced with danger, so superhero it is, I guess. Did my actions satisfy you? Or should I have been shot, too, to prove the nobility of my sacrifice?”
His upper lip lifts, and I recoil, but that pushes me farther into his hard, warm body. I don’t know what comes over me whenever this man is around, but I kind of just blurt out all my unfiltered thoughts.
“You seem to have a death wish.”
“You already read my journal, so you know that’s true.”
“Violet…”
“What? You blame me for not saving your mom, but still blame me when I turn around and save Mario? Will you ever be satisfied by anything I do?”
His gloved fingers tighten around my throat, still not choking but a little constrictive, then he turns me around in a blur of motion and shoves me back toward the counter, leaning dangerously close to me as the cool edge of it meets my lower back. “You need to learn when to shut that mouth.”
“I thought you said I need to learn how to defend myself? Provide a better manual to avoid confusion.”
He pushes me farther until I’m sort of sitting, sort of slumping on the counter, my back up against the wall. My heart lurches in my throat when he steps between my legs, and something hard pokes my belly.
Did this guy get hard from…manhandling me?
That would be creepy as fuck if I weren’t horrified by an entirely different thing.
At his touch, warmth spreads through my belly and flows down…
Down…
Oh God. What’s happening?
I don’t really get turned on. I’ve always been told I’m dry, and if they don’t use lube, I bleed. There’s no way—
“You seem to have mistaken the fact that I didn’t kill you for tolerance. Wait. No.” He grabs the largest knife from the washed dishes and places it flat against my face. “You’re provoking me to kill you, aren’t you? End this nightmare on your behalf and take the step you’ve always cowered away from.”
“Not here. I don’t…want to traumatize Dahlia, please.”
The knife’s cool side lifts and then it’s at my apron, cutting the strap at my neck, making it hang around my waist.
“It’s amazing how you think your dead body would traumatize her, but not your death.” He cuts the tie at my waist, and the apron falls to the floor.
My T-shirt is bunched up now, reaching mid-thigh. And he’s staring at them, my thighs, where the shirt stops.
I grow hotter and warmer beneath his gaze, fighting the urge to fling my legs open.
Jude reaches a hand to my bandaged knee, then stops.
His unforgiving gaze slides up the length of me before meeting my gaze. “You don’t really care about her, do you?”
“That’s not true!”
“Hmm. You know how to yell?” He pulls at the collar of my shirt and places the knife there. “Let’s see if you also know how to scream.”
A gasp rips out of me as he cuts the shirt right down the middle. Since I’m not wearing a bra, my round breasts bounce free, the tips hardening in an instant.
It’s not only because of the air.
My palms, which are flat against the counter on either side of me, tremble, but I keep them there as I stare at an invisible point on the floor.