Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I know what I have to do. I don't have an option. There's no pick a door and hope for the best. Cutting her loose is the only option. It's the only way for me to stay here, to keep doing the work I was created for. I can't let the idea of keeping her—not that she'd even be interested in something like that—settle inside of me. It's already hard enough just thinking of her walking away.
I soap up my body, using a gentle hand over my wound, all the while trying to do my best to convince my mind that being selfish is just that. She isn't going to want to have anything to do with me after what she's been through. Her history is proof enough of that. She lived a quiet life, and I have no doubt that even though she may have wanted an adventure, watching a man get stabbed and then being held hostage in the basement of a cabin in the woods has gone a little past what she'd tolerate as far as her need for a thrill is concerned.
I towel dry slowly and dress even slower, blaming my injury for the lack of haste, but in reality, I know it's because there's nothing about going down and giving Zara her belongings and asking her to leave that I want to be a part of. At the same time, she's not an inanimate object I can just leave down there to visit when the mood strikes, either.
Getting my shirt over my head makes my eyes squeeze closed from the pain, but I know I deserve it. I deserve a lot of castigation for the situation I put her in, all because the woman calms some part inside of me that has only ever been touched when hurting bad people.
I pull in a deep breath before leaving the room, grabbing her purse from the bed before stepping out into the hallway.
I wonder as I walk through the house if Ace is following me on the camera system, waiting to see if he needs to step in to get rid of her when he determines that I won't be able to. I don't dislike the man. He's made some really good points, and I did agree not to form any type of bond with anyone I'm working with. At the time I didn't think it would be an issue. I was more concerned about being able to control that part of me that's willing to jump straight to hurting people instead of assessing a situation and deciding on something that doesn't include bloodshed.
My hand aches from the grip on the strap of her purse by the time I make it to the bottom of the basement stairs, and I stand with my head against the door, wondering what I would say and do if she begged me to keep her. Could I be strong enough to force her to leave?
Just wishing that would be her reaction is a weakness that I need to get under control.
I stand so straight before reaching for the lock that it makes my back ache and my stitches scream in pain, but the sting in my side is a reminder of how dangerous things can be around me, and I never want her to suffer something like I've suffered. The whole reason we weren't supposed to make such connections is to keep people safe, to not have any way for them to twist and turn us. Loyalty to others is dangerous. It's better for everyone involved when we have nothing to lose.
She pops up from the bed, looking as exhausted as I feel, when I open the door. I don't bother closing it behind me again like I did the first time I stepped in here.
"You're free to go," I say, holding out her purse in front of me. "I've been assured that your car keys, watch, and cell phone are in here."
Instead of wavering like a tiny piece of my heart thought would happen, she rushes to me and rips her purse from my grip.
"I'd advise you to keep your experiences to yourself."
She narrows her eyes, and I realize, although I didn't mean it that way, my tone makes it sound like a threat.
"You haven't answered any of my questions."
"And I'm not going to. Use the stairs to get to the main level and you can find your way out from there."
She doesn't argue, doesn't lock her feet in place until I give in to her demands, and she doesn't look back as she walks out of the room with her head held high.
I hate myself a little more today than I think I ever have, and that's saying something. Normally I live with my hatred like it's a tangible thing that grows inside of me.