Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 176345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 882(@200wpm)___ 705(@250wpm)___ 588(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 882(@200wpm)___ 705(@250wpm)___ 588(@300wpm)
Dark eyes boring a hole into my skull, dragging my soul out with it until nothing is left but a hollow mess of me.
Eyes I recognize.
Hands that feel familiar.
“It’s gonna be okay,” the voice says.
But all I hear is the ringing of the gunshot like a memory being seared into my brain.
Screaming, I awaken to someone lying beside me. I grasp the nearest knife I can find on the bedside table and roll on top of the person, pushing the knife under their neck. Hands raised, completely at my mercy. But it isn’t until my eyes find his that I realize what I’m doing.
“Lana, it’s me,” Kai says.
It takes me a while to calm the panic raging through my heart.
“Where am I?” I mutter.
The last thing I remember, I was in the hallway in my towel.
I look down, but the towel is gone. I’m completely naked, sitting on top of him.
“It was wet, so I had to take it off to make you warm again,” he says. “I haven’t touched you. I was just watching over you.”
I shiver in place from the cold draft passing by my nipples.
The last thing I know is that I was arguing with my brother, and he’d just left when I … collapsed onto the floor.
“You’re in my room now. You’re safe,” he says. His hand reaches for my face, and he caresses my cheek so gently I almost break under his touch. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“I …” I mutter, slowly retracting the knife.
“You were dreaming again … weren’t you?”
I nod and roll off him, pulling my knees up to my chin as I sit in the bed. “The nightmares are intensifying.”
“Nightmares … about your mother?” he asks.
I swallow away my pride and nod.
He sits up too, intently listening to me even though I just held a knife to his throat.
“They’ve never been this bad before,” I say, sniffing. “Usually the killing keeps them at bay.”
“So revenge on predators wasn’t your only reason,” he says.
I shake my head. “I need it to stay sane.” When I look at him, he doesn’t seem the least bit afraid. “I’m sorry. I almost killed you there. I wasn’t trying to.”
“I’m fine,” he says, touching his neck to make sure there’s no blood, then he shows me his hand. “See?”
I smile. “Good.”
“Good?” His brow rises. “Lana fucking Rivera not trying to kill me? That’s a first.”
I snort and bump into him. “Stop, you know why I am the way I am.” I think about my nightmare, trying to decipher what I saw. Something just doesn’t sit right with me. The memories I have of that time are so blurry that I don’t know what part is real and what part isn’t. My brain prevents me from accessing them and has stored them away for my own safety, but they still creep out in my sleep.
When I shiver again, he places a hand on my back. “What do you usually do when you have those dreams?”
I gulp and tuck my hair behind my ear. “The thing you guys have been holding over my head…”
“Murder,” he fills in.
I nod. “It’s an outlet. The killing keeps me sane.”
“And since your victims deserve their fate, you don’t feel guilty,” he says.
I sigh out loud. “I wonder if it’ll ever be enough.” My fist balls. “But killing is the only thing that douses the fire burning in my heart.”
“Be right back.” He hops off the bed and exits the room, leaving me confused.
What is he planning?
I wait until he eventually returns with something that looks like leather.
“What is that?” I ask.
“An outfit. Stole it from Nathan’s room.”
I narrow my eyes as he approaches and tosses it my way. “Put it on.”
“You think I’ll fit into this?”
“It fits Milo snugly, so I’m confident,” he says.
Suddenly, he grabs my hand, and he pulls me out of the bed. “C’mon.”
“What are we doing?” I ask as I put on the outfit, which fits surprisingly well.
But he doesn’t answer as he continues rummaging in his closet.
So I go and check myself out in the mirror. It’s like a wetsuit with pants, but much softer and more flexible, with a zipper that goes to the top. Slick.
“What’s this been used for?” I ask. “I hope it isn’t what I think it is.”
“It is,” he replies.
“Ew.”
He snorts. “It’s been washed.” He’s still going through his closet until he finally finds what he’s looking for. “Perfect.”
He comes up behind me. “Close your eyes.” When he gets too close to my neck with whatever he has in his hands, I grip his wrist. He leans in to whisper, “Trust me.”
I throw him another glare through the mirror, but I still do what he says, and I release his wrist.
Something brushes past my cheeks, pressing against my forehead, as two ribbons are tied behind my head. And I can feel his breath near my ear, drawing me closer to him as he whispers, “Open your eyes.”