Page 68 of Pretend You Love Me
Right as we’re about to leave the kitchen, she spots something in the corner and gasps. It’s an old brush. Like a really old-fashioned brush with the soft bristles. It’s the only thing in this place that isn’t filthy somehow. She reaches out and grabs it. As she studies it in her hands, she’s lost. Gone somewhere else.
“Ginger.”
She doesn’t even hear me. I don’t want to be here one second longer. There’s nothing safe about this place.
“Ginger,” I say louder. Finally, her head jerks up.
“Time’s up.” I grab her arm and yank her toward the door. She holds the brush close to her body with her other hand.
Once I get her out to my truck, I open the door and point, “Get in.”
“No.”
I’m about to pick her up and toss her in.
“I can’t leave the other car,” she hisses.
Damn it, she’s right.
“Fine, but you’re going straight back to my place, and we are talking about this,” I say. “I’m following you. Don’t try to go somewhere else.”
Her eyes are blazing right now, but she finally cuts them away from me and sighs heavily.
“Fine.”
I’m still gripping the rifle in my hand as I watch her all the way to her car. As soon as she’s in her car with the door closed, I put the rifle away, hop into my truck, and follow her back to the house.
Chapter Eighteen
Brooklyn
He’s at my car door as soon as we pull up to the cabin. He jerks the car door open and practically drags me out.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he yells.
“Let go of me,” I yell back, jerking my arm away. “I’m not yours, Kip. You don’t own me. I’m a grown woman. I can do whatever I want.”
“The hell you can.” He follows me into the house.
I stop and whirl around once we are inside. My hands are on my hips. “Men have been telling me my entire life what I can and can’t do. I’m sick of it. I’m my own person. I can make my own decisions.”
“Stupid fucking decisions.” His arms are crossed over his chest.
“My decisions,” I yell. “Mine.”
We just stare at each other for a moment.
“Someone was murdered in that house,” he says.
I close my eyes for a moment. I’m trying to push that thought away, but I can’t.
I can’t think about it. I can’t think about whose blood that was. I can’t think about whether I’m too late.
I can’t. I just can’t.
As I struggle to push away every dark thought that’s flooding my brain right now, I slump down to my knees.
Not now. Not now. Not now.
