Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“Come,” I murmur, wrapping a supportive arm around her back as I lead out of the bathroom. “Let’s have a little tea and get you off to bed. You must be exhausted.”
She sniffles and whispers hoarsely, “No tea.”
“Okay, no tea. In that case, let’s get you to sleep.” I bend to lift her into my arms.
She doesn’t object to me carrying her, just lays her head on my shoulder and loops her arms around my neck. Her breathing is still ragged from all the crying, but she’s calming down. That pleases me, as does the needy way she’s clinging to me. I don’t know if it’s the aftermath of the trauma, or if I’m finally wearing down her resistance, but her holding on to me like this, with no trace of fear or mistrust, fills my chest with a special kind of warmth, one that lessens the icy hollowness around my heart.
With Sara, I’m coming alive again, and I want more of that feeling.
Chapter 30
Sara
He’s gentle with me in the shower, his touch tender and incongruously platonic as he washes me from head to toe. I stand still; that’s all I’m capable of at the moment—just standing. Nothing bothers me right now, not my nakedness and not even his. Now that my emotional storm has passed, I feel empty, a fog of exhaustion dulling all my thoughts and feelings. I’m beyond desire, beyond anxiety and fear; all that exists is guilt.
Terrible, soul-crushing guilt from the knowledge that two more men died because of me.
They died because I let a killer into my life and fed his obsession.
It’s clear to me now, so perfectly obvious I don’t know why I didn’t see this before. I’m toxic—a danger to everyone around me. Today, the victims were two druggies; tomorrow, it might be my friends or family. Nobody is safe around me for as long as Peter wants me, and everything I’ve done has only fueled his obsession.
From the beginning, I’ve played the game wrong, and two men paid for that with their lives.
“Here, step out,” Peter commands, and I exit the shower, letting him wrap a thick towel around me. He dries me with it, once again treating me like a child, and I let him, because I’m too exhausted to do anything else. Besides, all this—crying in his arms, clinging to him, having him take care of me—works well for the new strategy I’m going to implement.
Since he wants me, I’m going to let him have me.
It’s not a particularly brilliant strategy, nor is it in any way guaranteed to work. It might even backfire. But at this point, I have little to lose. I’ve tried pushing him away, and he’s still here, still a threat. So now I have to try something different.
I have to make him lose interest in me.
It was the conversation at breakfast that gave me the idea. What if the nurses are right, and I give off some kind of “ice princess” vibe, one that intrigues my stalker? What if, by refusing him, I’m making him want me more?
The fastest way to lose a guy is to sleep with him. It’s a stupid saying, but Andy’s mother isn’t the only one who believes that. I’ve heard that sentiment dozens of times, usually from the parents of teenagers who got pregnant because their families insisted on teaching them the values of abstinence instead of birth control. It’s an old-fashioned, sexist stereotype about the male/female dynamic, one that’s predicated on the insulting premise that women are like toilet paper, something to be used once and discarded.
I’ve always scoffed when I heard stuff like this, but at the same time, I know there are men who act that way, who pursue women until they get them into bed, and then quickly lose interest. But it’s not because they think women should be pure—at least, not usually. They just derive the greatest pleasure from the chase. They enjoy the anticipation more than the consummation, and once they score, they move on, seeking out fresher pastures.
I don’t know if my stalker falls into that category, but it’s possible—probable, even. He’s a stunningly handsome man, and he’s undoubtedly used to women falling head over heels for his dangerous alpha appeal. I’ve never known anyone quite like him, but I’ve seen shades of that arrogance in popular college athletes, Wall Street executives, and overpaid male surgeons. Men like that—the ones at the top of the food chain—perceive any hint of reluctance as a challenge; it intrigues them, makes them more inclined to pursue a woman, not less.
If that’s the case—and I’m desperately hoping it is—then the easiest way to get rid of Peter Sokolov may be to give him exactly what he wants: me, willing, in his bed. For whatever reason, the Russian killer seems to have drawn the line at rape, preferring to just force himself into my life, so it’s up to me to give him the green light.