Page 183 of Endgame
I’d hoped forhim. And he isn’t here.
“Well, guess what?” I proclaim to the empty room as I throw my feet off the bed. With my fists on my hips, I must look as determined as I feel. “I’m going to get him.”
Once I’ve brushed my teeth and washed my face, I go to the door and open it.
Before I take a step out of the room, I let air filter into my lungs. Swallow around the lump in my throat. Rub my hand over my silly, hopeful heart.
Hope was what had kept me alive for over two decades. I could just tell that being the Clarkes’ prisoner wasn’t the end for me.
I lived in order to spite them and bide my time.
I was waiting for something better to come along.
Someonebetter.
Ironically, that someone is the stuff nightmares are made of, not dreams.
He doesn’t scare me though. I’m strong enough to love him.
It’ll be easier to do both once I unveil his secrets.
Ours.
That’s it. I’ve decided he has to talk to me. We have to join forces.
He has to stop pushing me away.
Another deep breath in, and oxygen fills my lungs. I wipe my clammy hands on my black nightgown, which Everett must have put on me while I was out.
I smell nice too, so he must’ve showered me.
Time for me to return the favor. Time for me to take care of him, by letting him know he’ll never be alone again.
On my way to the library—where I’m sure he’s waiting for me—my footsteps are the only sound echoing in the ample space. I pass by the impressive living room as I walk along the dimly lit hallway.
Then I reach the library’s door, push it open, and step inside.
Sitting in one of the armchairs with his profile to me, Everett is the definition of regal.
His sculpted jaw, the perfect, strong nose. Even the jeans and T-shirt he’s wearing don’t make him seem any less powerful than he is.
His eyes are locked on a thick album in his lap.
Heat floods me, as if his intense gaze isn’t on the photos. As if he’s looking at me.
And…wow. I don’t want to ask him anything. There’ll be time for my questions later, after I satisfy this fiery need to obey him.
The collar is a welcome weight around my neck.
Hands clasped in front of me. Chin dipped.
I wait for him.
Without sparing a glance my way, he says, “Crawl to me.”
Relief floods me so hard that it knocks the air out of my lungs.
My knees bend. I’m about to reach the floor and?—
