Page 46 of Unorthodox
It’s a quiet sound, and I have to hold my own breath to hear it, his deep, steady breaths in and out. But he’s asleep.
He’s sleeping, sitting up.
My first thought is of escape. I look toward the door again, my heart pounding hard in my chest. But before I think of running, I force myself to count to three.
One.
Two.
Three.
Dante is outside of that door.
It’s never been unguarded, even when Max is in here, save for that one moment when I wandered out and found Dante at the front door, letting a man leave the house.
And while Dante might have come to check on me when I was puking, he works for Max.
His loyalty lies with him, not a girl who is nothing more than a plaything in this house.
I look back at Max, his ruffled hair, his taut muscles.
I listen to him sleep.
Then I take a step toward him on shaky legs. One more step.
One more.
I can smell him, more than I can the pine. He smells like summer. Like the ocean. Like all the things deadly men shouldn’t smell like.
Another way to lure in his prey.
One more step, and I’m standing right in front of him. I see the gun on his hip. The sight of it makes me feel sick.
I quickly avert my gaze, taking in the scars along his shoulders instead.
I peer around him, at his back. His back just might be the most pleasing part of his body, all hard muscle tapering down to his waist.
But it’s also the part with the most scars.
So many, I lose count after twenty. Some are long, some raised. Some are shorter than the ones that will form along my inner arm from counting down the days here.
He’s covered in them.
My chest tightens, and I hate myself for it. Hate the empathy I still have, even for a man like this.
My eyes find his gun again.
It’s clipped into a holster around his belt, and I don’t know how to remove it, but I know I have to try.
I don’t know where I’ll go. I’m not sure even where I am, but I can run, and I can find help. In the night…I could escape.
And if I don’t at least try…
If I don’t try, then I really am diseased.
Someone will come for meturns intosave yourself, and when I reach out with trembling fingers toward the grip of the gun, I intend to do just that.
I feel it beneath my fingertips, textured, almost rubbery. My stomach flutters, a jolt of adrenaline spiking through my body. My fingers close around the grip, and just as I take a deep breath, intending to pullup,Max moves.
