Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Again, the fires wouldn’t trigger me either.
But I said nothing. Let him do his thing.
He entered the circle and walked up to me, and he held up the silk tie. “I’m telling you. Five minutes.”
I snorted. “Good luck.”
His faint smile was the last thing I saw before he blindfolded me.
He was right about one thing, though. The fires kept me warm.
“Maybe ten or fifteen,” Greer amended. “I wanna push you hard.”
“Picture my eyes rolling,” I replied.
A second later, I was shoved a few steps backward, and I gnashed my teeth and rubbed my shoulder.
“You’re an easy target if you can’t hold your ground,” he told me firmly. I stiffened. His voice had changed, and I immediately pictured him in a uniform other than the one he had at work. With the shift in his tone alone, it was so easy to see him as a Marine.
Sergeant Greer Finlay.
Highly skilled in martial arts and as a sniper, according to Sloan.
After several tours in war zones, he’d had it with the desert, and he’d become a combat diver.
Greer thrived under pressure.
He got off on challenges.
I rolled my shoulders and blew out a slow breath, then changed my stance to make it more difficult to tip me over.
Suddenly, I felt his body heat right behind me.
His breath along my neck.
“Maybe Marcus ruined you for good,” he said quietly. “Maybe there’s no coming back from this.”
I clenched my jaw automatically but felt no reaction.
He was gonna have to try harder.
“Do you remember your safewords?”
“No. Red, green, and yellow are so easy to forget.”
He smacked me upside the head, and I flinched.
“Tell me about your first date with Marcus,” he ordered.
Oh Christ. We were going back that far? We’d be here forever.
“He was originally going to take me to a restaurant on a Friday,” I answered. “But he texted a couple days before and asked if I could meet up for lunch instead. He wanted to see me sooner.”
We’d gone out for fried chicken and iced tea.
He’d made me feel giddy with his charming smile and animated storytelling.
“He talked the whole time,” I said. “I soaked up every word.”
“Narcissists tend to prefer to talk about themselves.”
Yeah, probably.
“See, they build up a character for you to fall for,” Greer went on. “They study your reactions and learn your weaknesses. He probably knew your online profile by heart before you met. It’s a game from the beginning.”
I swallowed and shifted where I stood.
“He never loved you, Corey. By controlling you, he achieved his goals and loved himself.”
He never loved you.
Perhaps he hadn’t.
I thought back on another date, maybe our fourth or fifth. By then, I was already calling him Daddy, and we hadn’t been intimate yet. But that night… I remembered—I was supposed to go to my aunt and uncle’s the next day to celebrate Alva’s birthday. Marcus had wanted me to stay at his place, and I’d been on the fence.
“He knew how to play on my emotions,” I said. “First night we spent together, I wasn’t supposed to be there, but he convinced me—without actually convincing me. He’d interpreted my hesitation to go to his place as disinterest, and then he told me about his ex who’d cheated on him.”
“So you felt bad for him and went the extra mile to prove you were interested.”
Fuck. I had. I mean, I had been very interested. I’d had such a crush. But yeah, he’d known exactly what to say to get me to where he wanted.
“Already back then, he exploited you,” Greer stated. “He fucked with you for two whole years, Corey. And you didn’t even notice until last week.”
“That’s not true,” I blurted out. “I’ve been feeling bad this past year. Things have been piling up. I just couldn’t pinpoint—I mean, I trusted him. He told me I was overreacting.”
Greer’s chuckle sparked something in me. It put me on edge. This wasn’t fucking funny.
“You don’t know how much I’ve doubted myself,” I told him. “How many times I’ve locked myself in the bathroom to cry and wonder what was wrong with me. I’ve hated myself. I’ve hated being autistic. I questioned every goddamn feeling.”
His chuckling faded, but I had a feeling it was about to get worse.
He was going to push.
“Sloan told you about our conversation about unacceptable words, right?” I pressed.
“He did.”
I nodded once. “I know this is personal. I know others will have completely different experiences, but Marcus never used any politically incorrect words. The opposite—he kept himself informed and knew how to talk to everyone. He always knew what to say. What tone to use.” The words tumbled out much easier when I couldn’t see my surroundings. “But no one’s ever made me feel like a fucking retard the way he has.”
I drew in a breath and shook my head. Something was starting to surge within me, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to hurt anymore.