Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Not possible!” I cry through a whisper. I ran. I ran around for an entire hour only to end up back here. They knew that. It was why they didn’t chase me. I’d been doing circles on this island like a bad nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
I sink to the ground and bring my legs to my chest, the tears finally unleash. I just want to go home. I want my ridiculous boy toy, my surfboard, and my mother. I want to wake up and go to school tomorrow and never talk about this game ever again.
My crying stops when I hear the crack of a twig. Shooting up from the ground, I spin around to see a dark shadow behind me and the end of a cigarette ember burning. He takes a hit of the smoke, and I already know who it is.
“You still look like shit crying.” Dion steps out of the shadow from the tree, and I cross my arms in front of me, my muscles aching from fatigue.
I hate that he looks the way he does. It’s not about him being famous. I don’t give a shit about that, but it has everything to do with him. His sharp features, ripped body, and tatted skin. Even the small feather below his eye.
“I don’t really care what I look like to you, Dion.”
He closes the distance between us, and when I turn to run away from him, wanting to wallow in my self-pity alone without my archnemesis here to torment me over it, he snatches my wrists in his hands and spins me around until I’m face-to-face with the window that investigates the cabin. The lights are out now, but the burning, open fireplace offers orange flecks of color that bounce off all the furniture in the lounge.
“You see that?” His voice is barely a whisper, and I hate the way it travels over my skin like it belongs there.
“I can’t see anything!” I try to fight against his hold, but his grip only intensifies.
His arm curls around my torso, squeezing the air out of me, so I remain still. Fixated on the way the flames move. “Look closer, St. Claire, I promise you’ll be able to see it soon.”
I squint my eyes to fix on something in the upper stairs of the loft. A human figure is standing on the edge, and when the flame bursts higher, I see the shape of someone watching.
Frustrated, I go to turn in his arms when he slams his hand over my mouth, keeping me quiet. “Closer. Then I’ll let you go to scream.”
I don’t bother to tell him I won’t scream. That I’d cry, scratch, fight before I’d scream. Someone steps out of the side of the cabin, and my eyes rest on Sparrow, who is walking toward us now. The closer he gets, the more I fill with dread. What are they trying to do?
Sparrow stops in front of me, blocking the view of the cabin and looking over my shoulder to Dion. The corner of his eye twitches, and if I had blinked in that moment, I would have missed it.
Sparrow reaches forward, his hand wrapping around my chin, forcing my eyes up to his. Sparrow is tall, built like a machine, and has an air of dominance that hovers around him without even trying. He doesn’t need to force anyone to hear him talk, because all he needs to do is walk into a room and everyone can feel him. He’s a storm dressed in a suit, and the only way you can hide from him is if you hide in him. He’s both the solution and the problem.
“Who are you, Shiloh St. Claire, and why do I get the feeling you’re not who we think you are?”
I don’t bother trying to force his hand off my face, because the man is a monster. His fingers almost wrap around the entire lower half of my face.
Dion releases my stomach gently but doesn’t make an effort to let go completely. It throws me off. This man hates me. And the feeling is mutual, so why the fuck is he touching me like I’m one of his little groupies? I am, in fact, not.
If I take a step forward, I’m against Sparrow. If I stay here, I’m between them both. If I step backward…. Not an option.
“Because I’m not,” I breathe out, fatigue setting in the longer I’m standing. The muscles in my legs quiver and I try to force my eyes wide again. I know I’m tired. But am I this tired?
I fall backward and I half-expect Dion to let me fall, but he catches me again, his strong arm around my belly.
“I just need to sleep.”
Sparrow’s eyes fly up to Dion, and he nods, before stepping backward. I watch as he disappears into the shadows when I see Malyk in the window. He’s sitting in a chair, staring at both Dion and me. He leans forward so slowly, almost like a predator would stalk his food, resting his elbows on his knees.