Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Why do you hate me? The words dangle from the tip of my tongue. It would be so easy to voice them, though I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get a real answer.
“I can’t.” It’s barely a whisper, as much as I can squeeze out through my tight throat. “I’m sorry, Dad. I just can’t. I can’t marry a stranger who’s your age. The thought of it makes me sick. Haven’t I done enough?”
“If you had done enough, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he replies. “Or if you hadn’t pulled that shit about wanting half the money for yourself. You know, if you hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. This is all your fault.”
He is so good at that. Turning everything around on me. “I can’t. I just can’t.” The thought alone makes my skin crawl. I’m supposed to marry some old creep? I’m supposed to let him put his hands on me? I was thinking last night was the end of it, like I could be free after this. I didn’t know he would keep moving the goalposts.
“You can’t? Are you sure about that?” There’s something dangerous in his voice. A cold, sick feeling ripples through me and makes sweat bead on the back of my neck.
“What does that mean?” Do I even want to know?
“It means, I wonder how many people in your life would still want to be in your life if they knew what you did.”
I feel all hot and sweaty inside all of a sudden. Glancing around the room for a wastebasket, I swallow hard against the bile that rushes into my throat. “What did I do?”
“Please. Do you think just because I don’t rub it in your face every single day, I don’t know exactly why your mother died the way she did? What, do you think I couldn’t put two and two together when I found you kneeling over her body, screaming?”
The floor rushes up to meet me all at once when my knees give out. I’m glad I’m alone—I wouldn’t want anybody to see me like this, gasping for air. I’m also glad the floor is carpeted after hitting it as hard as I did. Not that it would be the worst thing my body’s been through in the past twenty-four hours.
“Did I lose you?” How can he sound so gleeful? Like there’s anything funny about any of this. “Just try me. Push my hard and see what happens. I promise, it won’t end well for you. You will end up wishing like hell you had done as I asked.”
“But… it’s not like you have proof or anything.” Wow. That was the argument I came up with? Then again, how much better could I do when my brain is barely working?
“Does it matter? People are going to believe what they’re told. And I’m going to tell everyone you killed your mother. And they’ll all know for sure what I’ve known for so long. You’re worthless. Here I am, trying to make your life worth something, and you’re still refusing. Eventually, you’re going to figure out I know best.”
“You can’t do that!” I wish I could cry. It would be a relief right now, being able to let it all out. “You can’t tell people I killed Mom.”
“Once again, you seem to think you have any right to tell me what to do. You’re going to learn, eventually,” he predicts with another nasty, cold laugh.
“But—”
That’s as much as I’m able to get out before suddenly, the phone is yanked from my hand. I scramble for it, reaching up, gasping.
Tucker is too fast. I didn’t hear him get out of the shower, probably because I can’t hear much other than the blood rushing in my ears as my heart pounds a frantic rhythm.
“Who is this?” he barks into the phone, his face a mask of rage. I recognize it, having seen it before, but for once it’s not directed at me.
I can hear Dad on the other end, thanks to how loudly he’s speaking. “This is Maya’s father. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“This is Tucker Kingsley, and I already know about Maya’s mom, so you can take your threats and shove them up your ass.”
He what? Okay, he’s obviously making that up. Why is he trying to help me?
“And let’s get one thing straight,” he continues, his voice deeper now, with an animal growl running through it that lifts the hair on the back of my neck and leaves me staring. “Maya lives here, with me. She is not coming back to you, so you can quit harassing her. Got it?”
Before Dad can say a word, Tucker ends the call and tosses the phone onto his bed with a grunt. I fight to catch my breath while he stands with his fists clenched, his bare shoulders rising and falling. He didn’t even take the time to dry off after his shower, only slinging a towel around his waist, and now beads of water roll down his chest and arms, dripping from his hair.