Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"Me too," I whisper, brushing tears away.
I feel like hell the next morning. I barely slept, despite moving from the bed to the closet floor not long after I heard Octavio go to bed. He didn't try to convince me to sleep in his bed with him again. After what happened, that probably shouldn't have hurt my feelings, but it did anyway. I was awake for a long time staring up at the ceiling after his door closed. When I finally managed to fall asleep, the same nightmares haunted me.
Dr. Shapiro says it's common to have nightmares after a traumatic event. She wanted to prescribe something to help me sleep, but I refused. She thinks I'm trying to tough it out, but really, I'm just afraid that Nikolai or Ivan will come for me one night and I'll be too drugged to fight them off.
When Octavio meets me in the kitchen, he doesn't look like he slept any better than I did. He's still far too handsome for words, but his eyes are shadowed beneath and frustration all but crackles in the air around him. He watches me pick apart a granola bar for a long time without saying anything.
It's unnerving.
"Can we talk?" The deep growl of his voice sends a shiver through me.
"There's nothing to talk about." I carefully avoid meeting his gaze, instead focusing on the granola bar in my hands. I'm not very hungry. My stomach is twisted into knots. Even the orange juice I drank sits uncomfortably. "Are you ready to go?"
"Faith, dammit–"
"Don't curse at me, Detective!" I snap my gaze up to his, my eyes narrowed. "I don't curse at you. It's rude, and I don't appreciate it."
Frustration turns to surprise in his sepia eyes. Something perilously close to pride sweeps through his expression before those eyes narrow on me. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but I don't give him the chance.
"We don't need to discuss what happened last night," I mutter. "It was unintentional, and I can assure you, it won't happen again."
"Faith–"
"Are you ready to go?"
"No," he growls, stomping around the island toward me. I quickly scurry around the other side before he can reach me. His scowl deepens, but he doesn't make another circuit, instead planting his hands on the marble top. He's imposing as he leans toward me, his expression fierce. His dark blue Polo stretches taut over the muscles in his upper arms and chest. "Don't tell me you didn't mean to kiss me, conejita. I saw the desire in your eyes."
"You're wrong," I lie, batting my hair back from my face to return his scowl. "I used you."
"You used me?" He leans even closer, his expression turning disbelieving. One corner of his lip turns up like he's amused. His right eyebrow climbs. "Please, tell me how you used me."
"I…" I falter, struggling to come up with a suitable lie. "Talking about Nikolai upset me. I kissed you so you'd stop making me think about what he did to me," I say, triumphant when the excuse suddenly appears in my mind. "The only desire you saw was the desire to be done thinking about him and his men."
Octavio's smile slips, some emotion I can't name flickering through his eyes. It's there and gone so quickly I can't get a read on it, but I instantly know I don't like whatever it was. It makes my stomach clench and my heart ache. Guilt pricks at me, deflating me like a balloon.
"I'll give you that one because I deserve it." His voice is soft as he turns away from me. "But that's the only lie you get, Faith."
I want to apologize, but I don't. I can't, not if I'm going to keep my distance from him until I find a way to get out of here. And I am going to find a way to get out of here. There's no way I can continue staying here with him when the thought of leaving already makes it hard to catch my breath.
He doesn't want me, and I'm not a masochist. I've been hurt enough for one lifetime, thank you very much. I'm not going to stick around long enough to fall in love with him when he doesn't want me the same way. And falling for him would be far, far too easy.
"Let's go," he mutters, stomping toward the door.
I drop my destroyed granola bar in the trashcan and follow behind him.
He's completely silent as he locks up the house and escorts me down the sidewalk. When we're halfway to Roman's, he curses under his breath. "I will never hurt you," he says, his voice hard as stone, "but if you lock your door against me again, I'll take it off the fucking hinges."
Shock ripples through me, sadness following right on its heels. I think he means it. Maybe I don't really know him at all if he's willing to strip away every ounce of privacy I have. He said he'd never hurt me, but that's a lie. He just broke a piece of my heart.