Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
And it is obvious that she is indeed swept up in the fantasy of her own thoughts and words. And the love affair she has fallen prey to… is with herself.
I can’t stomach another moment of it.
But when I move to make my dash towards freedom, I’m struck by the presence of the man across the bar. In shadow, concealed in the dim, romantic light that people shell out small fortunes for.
His eyes are on me and there’s something about him that is familiar, even in the darkness. A shiver moves down my spine and I rub my arms, certain it’s the cold and not something else.
My instincts are telling me to go.
Only I can’t. Because I’m self-destructive. The mouse who craves the cheese in the trap and something doesn’t seem right but it moves for it, anyway.
It’s all so well-rehearsed, the way he steps out of the shadows and into the light. He’s been preparing for this grand entrance for a while now. It’s good. It’s perfect. And it’s terrifying, exactly the way he intended it to be.
My hands are clammy and my spine is steel and I’m trembling.
It’s happening.
The air in my lungs is gone and I can’t breathe and he isn’t even anywhere near me yet. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It’s been too long. I’ve had years to stitch the broken parts of myself back together and now the thread feels weak and worn and tangled even as it wraps around my heart and squeezes.
There he stands. The nightmare within a nightmare. Polished and clean and all grown up. He’s different, but the same when he smiles. He likes my eyes on him and he always did love to be the center of attention.
Storm was right. Cop or not, Alexander has been looking for me.
All this time I’ve been hunting him. Plotting and planning and scheming behind the curtains, only to find out that I’m the one who is a fucking puppet. Surprise was supposed to be on my side. It was mine, and I made it mine, and none of this makes any fucking sense.
What else could he possibly want with me after all these years?
It isn’t atonement.
It isn’t regret that I see in those eyes either. The eyes that roam the curves of my body like he still owns that right.
You’d never guess that his family lost everything. He still dresses the part. Expensive trousers and a polo shirt he’ll probably only wear once. Loafers and a silver watch. He’s a walking, breathing cliché and his desperation stinks.
And that’s the thing. The trigger that slaps some sense back into me and reminds me who is in control here.
Now there’s only one question on my mind.
To play or not to play.
I toss a shy smile in his direction and shrug, as if to say I’ve been caught, and what now? He takes the bait and gestures his drink in my direction.
Want one?
There’s a moment’s hesitation before I concede and move in his direction. He wears the same cologne, and it makes me sick when I smell it, but I take a seat at the bar and hold my breath. Up close, his face is more angular than I remember and his eyes darker. But beneath the surface, he’s still the same boy I used to know. Refined. Smart and observant and razor-edged. Everything my mother always praised about him is on display right now. His best traits. The perfect match for me, she’d said.
My hands are in my lap and I need to let go of my rage and get a grip and not think of anything but making him my bitch. I will handle him incrementally. In five second intervals. And this time, I will win.
These are my streets. My territory. And my game.
He might be a cop, but he doesn’t know how things work here. He never could. He hasn’t immersed himself in this world the way that I have. He hasn’t lived it the way that I have.
I observe him cautiously and run through the list of questions in my mind.
Is he the one who hurt Kylie?
And what does he want with me?
These things are important. I need to know them to win.
He gestures to the bar, and there are already two fresh drinks there. One for him, one for me.
“I’ve played that game once before,” I tell him. “Didn’t work out so well for me last time.”
“That was foolish of me,” he says. “I could order you another one.”
“Or you could get to the point.”
“I’m Royce.” The words roll off his tongue like honey. “What’s your name, beautiful?”
I laugh.
He glares, and I laugh some more. People are staring and he’s embarrassed, but I’m not the debutant anymore and he needs to know it.
“So, that’s how you’re going to play it, huh? We’re just a couple of strangers, meeting in a bar for the first time.”