Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I shouldn’t have cared.
It wasn’t my fucking business.
But I found myself turning the car over anyway, and driving downward toward the road that would eventually lead to the cabin.
I only got maybe a third of the way down the street before the puppy, Storm, came rushing out of the trees, jetting out across the road, forcing me to slam on the brakes, so I didn’t hit him.
He didn’t even seem to notice how close he’d been to getting run over, though, as he rushed toward my door, letting out a deep whimpering noise that only intensified the frigid feeling in my stomach.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, as if the damn thing could understand me, could tell me anything.
Almost as if he understood, though, he whined, then rushed toward the woods. He looked back, seeing I wasn’t following, and ran back to me, doing more whimpering.
“Alright,” I said, cutting the engine, and climbing out of the car.
Seeing this as compliance, Storm ran back toward the woods, whimpering the whole time.
I didn’t know a lot about dogs, but I knew something was clearly wrong to make him act like this.
My mind immediately flashed back to the woman with the red hair, the stunning face, the banging body.
There were so many things that could go wrong when you were trying to rough it in the woods.
Bad water, falls, cuts, you name it.
It didn’t seem crazy to assume something had happened to her to leave her unable to get help herself. And the dog, having keen instincts, knew to try to find help.
The poor fuck was out of his mind with anxiety as I followed him through the woods, rushing back toward me to make sure I was still coming, crying, then darting forward, only to keep doing the same thing over and over again.
“What’s—“ I started to say, when he suddenly rushed forward, and dropped down.
Right next to a body on the ground.
“Fuck,” I hissed, breaking into a run as my gaze moved over her body, looking for signs of life.
She was dressed for bed, even though she was pretty fucking far from the cabin, in a pair of silly pajama pants with little cherries all over them, and a black t-shirt.
I didn’t see any shoes.
Where the fuck were her shoes?
I felt some of the tension leave me as I saw her chest rise.
Breathing.
She was still breathing.
Her back was to me, so all I could really see was her long hair all tangled with twigs and dried leaves.
Storm’s whines grew louder, more frantic, as he poked his snout at the woman.
“Ow,” she whimpered, curling more tightly into herself. “I’m sorry, baby,” she murmured at the puppy, but her voice was tight, pained.
My head seized in my chest at the way her whole body recoiled at the sound of my footsteps.
“I’m here to help,” I said, trying to make my voice sound reassuring, though I had no fucking experience with that shit.
She tried to turn to look at me, but the movement had her crying out, making my gut clench.
Pain.
She was in pain.
From the sound of things, a lot of it.
But it made no sense.
Why was she all the way out here?
How had she gotten so hurt on flat land?
I stepped around her prone form, and felt my heart seize in my chest when I finally got a look at her.
She hadn’t fallen, gotten into some random mishap in the woods at night or some shit like that.
She’d been beaten.
Fucking brutally, too.
“Fuck,” I hissed, dropping down to my knees. “What hurts the most?” I asked, looking at the dried blood around her nose and lips, the slashes of little cuts across her cheeks, and the bruises steadily setting in across her pretty face.
“My wrist,” she said, making me notice the way she was cradling it to her chest with her other hand.
That made sense.
If she tripped or was pushed, the natural instinct was to break your fall, to throw out your hands. But, of course, like a lot of our instincts, it was wrong. You should break a fall with your forearms, not your hands. And this was why. Wrists were weak. They broke way too easily when forced to hold up the force of all your body weight and its momentum toward the ground.
“And my ribs,” she added, her lip trembling.
“Alright. I have to move you,” I told her, voice holding warning. “And it’s gonna hurt like fucking hell,” I added.
To that, she let out a little snort. “Don’t sugarcoat it,” she said.
“What? And have you call me a liar in about twenty seconds?” I asked as I moved forward, sliding one hand under her, then the other. “Here goes,” I told her before lifting her up.
I didn’t do it slow and easy.
The fuck for?
Just to prolong the pain involved in the move.
I yanked her up and off the ground, holding her against my chest. So when she cried out, it was real close to my ear, making my heart twist.