Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Like something hidden.
It was that sudden, gut-punch of realization that had my hand shooting out, had me snatching at the ball of crocheted material.
“No,” I said to myself as my hand grabbed the long strap and watched the purse fall open, a memory crashing into my present. “No no no.”
Why did he have my purse?
The one that I’d lost in the scuffle with my kidnapper on that one awful, fateful day? The one I figured was lost to space and time.
But here it was.
Shoved in the back of the wardrobe I built for the man I was falling wildly in love with.
I didn’t even have to open it to know it was mine, that it didn’t just belong to some other woman.
Because I’d found it in my grandmother’s basement. It had been my mother’s when she was a teenager. And my mom had told her to throw it out, that it was out of style. My grandmother insisted that everything always came back into fashion if you waited long enough, so she’d stashed it away for that eventuality.
I’d pulled it out and taken it when I’d been clearing out her house after she passed.
I knew the zipper that didn’t close all the way, allowing some of the fun bright pink silk lining to show through. I knew the snag near the bottom that I once got caught on someone else’s keychain.
This was my bag.
But how was it here?
My mind flashed with a thousand possibilities that included him being a witness to the kidnapping to him stalking me or something until rationality finally took root.
No.
No, it wasn’t as insane as all of that.
He’d gone back.
To the house in the woods.
Where he’d found this.
Then he’d taken it.
And had hidden it from me.
Then proceeded to lie about it.
Omission was a lie, damnit.
My vision was going weird, jumping, flashing. Little images from the past cut into the present. Hands grabbing, fear choking, pain starting.
They seemed to flash faster and faster, blurring the present and past, making it impossible to think clearly.
“Looking for something, darlin’?” Riff asked, tone light and playful as usual, oblivious, it seemed, to the way tension was sparking off my every nerve ending.
For a moment, the visions stopped flashing, letting me see clearly again.
When I turned, I found him dressed in jeans and a tan henley, his wet hair leaving a few drops of water onto the shoulders.
His smile had been soft as ever.
Until he saw what I was holding.
Then I got to see the way his face fell.
“What is this?” I asked, voice shaking almost as much as the hand holding my purse. My stomach was cramping; a cold sweat was spreading across my skin.
“I can explain,” he said, holding up his hand in a placating gesture. It begged me to understand.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Not with my brain playing tricks on me like this.
“I don’t know if you can,” I said, flinging it back into the wardrobe, and slamming the door.
“V—“
“You went back there,” I said, voice tight as the memories started to flash across my mind again, making bile rise up my throat. The shed, the shackle, the clawing hunger, the door opening… and him coming inside with me…
“Yes,” he admitted, having no choice. Because there was no other explanation.
“You didn’t tell me you were going back there,” I said, holding onto my stomach, trying to breathe, but it was getting harder with each passing second.
“I didn’t want you to—“
“You don’t get to choose what I can handle,” I cut him off. “You don’t get to try to protect me from things that directly involve me,” I snapped, hating how my voice hitched, how I was so close to crying.
Not wanting to break down here like this, I turned and rushed toward the door.
“Vienna,” he called, rushing down the steps behind me, but I only broke into a run, ignoring all the faces in the living room as I rushed through, barely pausing to grab my jacket on my way outside.
I had to get away.
I had to get control of myself.
I felt like I was losing my grip on reality.
“Leave me alone,” I said to Riff before slamming the door hard in his face.
To his credit, he did what I asked.
Even if a part of me ached for him to follow me, to apologize, to say he was wrong.
Because he was, damnit.
That was wrong.
Not necessarily going. I understood that the club had lost a lot of money on that deal, and that, eventually, they would have to go back to get some sort of revenge for that.
But he was wrong to lie to me about it.
For well over a week now.
Each time we were together, there was this big thing he was keeping from me.
Maybe it was wrong to feel so betrayed by this. But I was still raw, damnit. I was still trying to learn to trust people, especially men. And it had been so easy with Riff. Because he’d been so honest with me.