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)
I stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Is that how your face…” I trailed off when he bared his teeth at me in feral rage, his scar twisting into something terrifying.
“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” he repeated, enunciating every word. “And don’t say your friend’s name ever again. I don’t want you to even think about him. I’m the only man you should be concerned with, the only one you should think about. Your purpose is to serve me, to please me. No one else.”
“Please,” I forced out, my eyes watering. “You’re hurting me.” His fingers were digging into my face, hard enough that I thought I might bruise.
He instantly released me and rolled off me with a curse. He didn’t look at me as he stiffly crossed the bedroom to his wardrobe and started getting dressed.
“Andrés?” I asked timidly.
He didn’t respond.
I decided I believed him when he said he wouldn’t go after Dex. He seemed furious that I’d even think he’d hurt someone I loved in order to hurt me.
I will never cause you harm, not your body and not your heart. I remembered the promise he’d made me. Maybe he did hurt me when he flogged me. And maybe he did enjoy my pain. But he’d never lied about what kind of monster he was.
Guilt nipped at me. Someone had hurt him. That should have been obvious from the very beginning, given his scars. But I’d been so focused on how scary they were that I hadn’t stopped to think about the pain he must have endured when he got them. Not to mention the reminder of it when people cringed away from looking at his ruined face. I hadn’t been able to bear looking at him when I’d first seen him. What must it be like to have people flinch at the sight of you?
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
He stiffened further, and he stopped in his tracks. After a few tense seconds, he spoke, but he still didn’t turn to look at me.
“I got something for you,” he said. “It’s on the tray next to your breakfast.”
I glanced at the food cart that must have arrived while I was still sleeping. A large, gift-wrapped box sat beside the covered tray.
“What—?”
“I’ll see you tonight,” he cut me off and strode out of the room.
Curiosity spiking, I went straight for the gift rather than the bacon. I tore off the iridescent white paper and pretty blue bow to find a plain cardboard box. When I opened it, my jaw dropped.
“Wow,” I whispered, running reverent fingers over the laminated, first edition X-Men #101 comic book. The first one featuring The Dark Phoenix. It must have cost a fortune. Not to mention acquiring it so quickly. I’d confessed my geeky cosplay kissing session to Andrés like, two days ago. And only yesterday I’d appealed to him about my boredom. How had he managed to get this for me?
He managed with all his drug money, I reasoned. But that didn’t stop me from picking up the comic.
Another first edition of the following book lay beneath it.
And another beneath that.
I carefully, lovingly removed each one and laid them out on the bed beside me so I could stare at them in awe. In all, there were twenty collectable comic books that told the entire Dark Phoenix story arc. It was any nerd’s wet dream, including mine.
Okay, maybe I wasn’t actually wet from looking at them, but the knowledge that Andrés had been paying such close attention to the little things I’d told him touched me somewhere deep inside. He might be a sadistic psycho, but he could be thoughtful. Kind.
God, I’m going to turn into Lauren, I rebuked myself.
Still, there was no denying that giving me the comics was a small act of mercy. Apparently, Andrés didn’t want me to go completely insane from being left alone with nothing but my own racing thoughts.
Even though I was almost hesitant to touch them, I was desperate enough for reading material that I eventually opened them. I knew the stories already, but being able to handle these precious editions in person rather than reading reproductions of them on my computer screen was an entirely new experience.
I barely paused to talk to Lauren when she brought me lunch. She didn’t seem keen on talking, anyway. And after hearing her disturbing take on Andrés—how nice she thought he was—I didn’t really want to discuss it with her any more.
Despite taking my time with them, I’d been finished with the final book for quite a while before Andrés returned for the evening. I’d actually started re-reading #101 and was almost done for the second time when he came into the bedroom.
I beamed at him, high on nerd-endorphins. “Thanks,” I said, genuinely grateful.
He blinked at me, momentarily stunned. Then he grinned. “You are even more beautiful when you smile than I imagined.”