Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” I murmur, taking my time to wipe every inch, every tiny crease, clean. I need to believe that somewhere in his heart, or at least in a remote corner of his conscience, he’s struggling emotionally because he had to kill three people today—because of me.
He shampoos my hair and then his. I slowly spread the soap over my body, stopping before my hands reach the top of my legs. Jack blinks, drops of water clinging to his eyelashes.
With our gazes locked, I take his hand and guide it between my legs.
“Frankie,” he rasps, but he doesn’t remove his hand or move his fingers. They stay idle, gently pressed where Archer’s had been on the Ferris wheel.
“I’m okay.” I’m not asking for sex or for this to go any further. Maybe I’m not doing this for him as much as I’m doing it for myself. I’m okay.
Jack skates his fingertips over my flesh, taking his time. His hand slides to my hip, breast, and neck before cupping my cheek. “You’re okay.” He presses his lips to my forehead.
I’m not broken.
Cracked? Yes.
Bruised? Yes.
Knotted? Yes.
Some days, barely breathing? Unfortunately.
But my heart beats. And even when it feels like a curse, I remind myself it’s a gift, not just a choice.
Hours later, as Jack sleeps beside me, the sheet low on his waist, both hands resting on his chest, I wonder how I got here. I’ve never felt this lost, this uncertain. The blinking neon motel sign lights up his skin every time it flashes through the threadbare curtains. My fingers trace his tattoos, the veins down his arms, calloused fingers, and abs.
And … lower.
He stirs, head easing to the side, tired eyes peeling open.
I stare at him for a few seconds. “Are you broken?” I whisper because the life in his eyes seems to fade a little more every day.
He blinks slowly.
My hand slides along his growing erection.
“Down there?” he murmurs, lifting a single brow. “It would appear the answer is no.”
A tiny smile steals my lips as best as it can. My heart is too heavy to embrace his humor fully.
“What is … this? Us?” I release him and skate my hand up his chest. “Who am I to you?” I slide a leg over him, straddling his torso while kissing along his neck.
His fingers tangle in my wet hair while he sits up, so we can look into each other’s eyes. My nipples brush his chest when I lift onto my knees and lower onto him, letting him fill me physically … emotionally … and all my tiny fractured places.
Jack’s teeth scrape along his lower lip, masking his grin while he hums. He deposits a series of slow kisses all over my face. “You’re the girl I kiss good night.” His hands grip my hips, moving me over him while we kiss.
Under different circumstances, that would make me the luckiest girl in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JACKSON
“You killed three men.” Frankie’s groggy voice seeps into the bathroom while Jackson shaves.
He pauses briefly before rinsing the razor, hoping she accepts that he did it for her and stops mentioning it.
“Because of me.” She slides her legs over the edge of the bed and combs her messy hair with her fingers.
Jackson continues shaving. “Good morning.”
She grunts. “Good?”
“Above average.”
“You killed three men yesterday.”
So much for that minor detail slipping her mind.
“It’s complicated.” He wipes the residual soap from his face with a towel.
“Finishing that song for your wife is complicated. Killing three men is criminal.” Frankie appears in the doorway with a sheet wrapped around her.
Jackson nods slowly. “I’ll pick up clothes for you today.”
“I have clothes.”
“Not here.”
She rubs her eyes. “I’m going to need more than the word complicated.”
“Messy.”
Her hands drop to her sides, and she frowns.
“Dangerous.” He twists his lips. “But mostly … really fucking complicated.”
“I’m leaving.” She pivots. “Where’s my dress?”
“In the trash.”
“You threw away my dress?” Frankie turns again, pushing him aside to inspect the trash in the bathroom. “It’s not in the trash.” She searches the rest of the motel room.
“The dumpster behind the motel’s office.”
Frankie’s attention snaps to him, lips parted. “Why would you throw away my dress … the only thing I have to wear?”
Jackson’s list of reasons for disposing of the dress is long and complicated. “If we’re on the same page, I’ll pick you up some other clothes today.”
Confusion wrinkles her face while she blinks several times. “On the same page? Sorry, you’ll have to explain what’s on the page before I can confirm or deny if I’m on it with you. And you have to use more than a few words to describe the page. I’ll need to know why you killed those men. Who are you? And what are your intentions for Archer Sanford and me?”
Jack retrieves a toothbrush from his small toiletry bag and squeezes a dab of toothpaste onto it.