Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“No,” he says simply, leaning closer. “You are my wife now, and I am going to enjoy everything that comes with it. Stop fighting me.”
“Stop making unreasonable requests.”
“You sleeping beside me in unreasonable?”
“This bed is too small. We might touch.”
“Touching is the point, my little angel.”
“Maybe for you, but I’d rather build a big wall right down the middle of his mattress.”
His jaw sets as his eyes narrow. I’m poking the bear with a very sharp stick and also begging him to come eat me while wearing a meat-dress, but I can’t help myself.
I have no power here. He knows it. I know it. I need him, which is why I’m breaking down left and right. If I’m going to keep a shred of dignity, I have to remember who he represents.
I have to hold on to my hate for him and his family.
He’s about to say something, but his phone starts ringing. He ignores it for a moment but pulls back with a frustrated growl. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he answers. “What the fuck do you want?” Silence for a moment. “When? Where? Just the one? That’s fine. Keep him occupied. I’m on my way.” He hangs up and stands.
I sigh, stretching my legs. “Duty calls, husband?” I bat my eyelashes. “But we were just starting to enjoy each other.”
“Don’t move.” He glares back at me. “I’m not finished with you.”
“Unfortunately, I’m very done. Go on, go do your job. Take your time, too. No rush.”
His hands curl into fists. “I’ll have your things brought over.” He turns to walk away.
“Wait.” I sit straight up. “Hold on. My things? Brought over?”
“From your apartment.” He pauses at the door. “This is your home now. You don’t need your old apartment.”
“Carson. No. No, no, no, absolutely not.”
“What did you plan on wearing? You need clothes. Toiletries. The normal things a person needs. And there’s no reason to keep paying for that tiny rat’s nest.”
“That’s my rat’s nest, and I took care of the pest problem, thanks much.”
“My wife will not spend a single second in a place like that. You live here now. It’s practical this way.”
“Yes, but—” I look around in a panic. If he has my things carted over here and the lease on my apartment expires, that means this is real. I’ll have nowhere else to go, nowhere safe all my own. Somehow, that’s even worse than signing a marriage certificate. Divorces aren’t all that hard—even if he says he has good lawyers—but really moving in? With all my things?
I’ll be trapped here. A real prison.
A tense silence falls. He glances down the hall, clearly impatient, and finally shakes his head. “Fine. You can hold onto your apartment for now.”
I brighten. “I knew you were a big pushover.”
“Only for you,” he murmurs. “But I will have Fitz bring your clothes. Make a list of what you need.”
“Consider it done.”
He glares at me for a moment longer before stalking away.
Leaving me alone in a stranger’s room, in a stranger’s house, which is now apparently where I live.
Chapter 20
Ash
The first thing I do is snoop.
I don’t find much. The closet’s filled with a typical rich guy’s clothing, or at least what I imagine it would look like: expensive watches, designer suits, cashmere sweaters, loafers, dress shoes, and one drawer stuffed with cash in tight bundles. I stare at the money for a long time, thinking how the contents of a random storage container in a single man’s closet could’ve changed my life a dozen times over, before I close it again.
There’s a gun in his nightstand. I’m not surprised to find it there. I’m tempted to steal it, but I have a feeling I’d regret that.
The rest of the house is empty. Furnished, but empty. No personality, nothing to indicate that anyone lives in it. There are no pictures of Carson and his family, no personal heirlooms, no souvenirs from trips, nothing at all. It’s a beautiful home with big, airy rooms, modern conveniences, frankly luxurious amenities, but it’s so cold.
Like a hotel. Like people come and go but nobody makes this space permanent.
I wander for a while, poking around the kitchen stocked with health food and upscale mineral water before landing back in the master bedroom. I sit on a couch near the window, my phone cradled in both of my hands.
What am I doing? Why am I here right now and not running for my life? There’s nobody around to stop me and there are a dozen ways I could escape. Out the back, through a window—assuming I can move the bars—even down the front stoop.
But doors and bars aren’t keeping me here.
The threat of my friends getting hurt, that’s the real noose around my neck.
I call Bernie first. She answers right away. “Ash, are you okay?”