“No.”His eyes remain alert, glancing at me quickly.
“Have you ever read a book?”I trail my fingers over the spines and select another one.
“Not since school.”This time, he doesn’t look at me, just stares at the doors to the main entrance as if a gunman is due any moment.
“I find that very sad.”
He looks at me.“Why is that sad?”
“I can’t imagine a life without books,” I tell him, brushing my hand over the cover of a beautiful hardback that looks too nice to be read.
He glances down at the book in my hand.“What makes them so special?”
I inhale, contemplating my answer, before deciding that honesty is the best policy.I can’t lie when surrounded by books.
“They’re my friends.”I glance at him.At his deepening scowl, I explain.“It may have escaped you, but I don’t have a queue of people lining up at my door to hang out with me.Let’s face it, who wants to be friends with Barrett Devall’s daughter?I sure as hell wouldn’t want to.So, the characters in these books become my friends.”
He doesn’t look convinced, so I try another angle.
“Do you ever want to escape?”When his eyes narrow, I ask, “Don’t you ever just close your eyes and wish you were somewhere else?”
I don’t think he’s going to answer.Why would a Hellhound, trained only for one thing, have any understanding of what I’m talking about?
But then his shoulders drop, and he nods.“All the time,” he says quietly, and my heart sinks.Of course he wants to escape; this poor, tortured creature isn’t the nasty beast he pretends to be.
Holding the book flat in the palm of my hand, I lay my other hand on top of it.“These are my escape.”
He glances at the book, uncertainty filtering across his face—unsure how something so small could wield such power.
“Here.”I offer him the book.
He looks uncertain at first, hesitant to touch it.When he finally reaches out and takes it, his fingers brush mine as the book exchanges hands.And I can’t help wondering what he wants to escape from.What life did he lead that brought him to my father’s doorstep?
Exiting the plaza, I wonder if the Beast will read the thriller I bought him or if it’ll remain in the bag.I hope he gives it a chance.Right now, he looks pissed, which is normal, but it probably has more to do with the obscene amount of time I spent in the bookshop.
He hates shopping.But the urge to get out of the house has been too much—my father is in one of his more tempestuous moods, and my brain is refusing to let go of my impending doom.
After the foiled drowning, I set myself the task of finding another way to disrupt my father’s plan for my future.I’ll admit, with the arrival of the Beast on my security team, I’ve stopped focusing on coming up with a new plan.
But the ball last month has only heightened my campaign.
The revulsion I’d felt as soon as I walked through those doors had been enough to make me want to find the nearest lake and jump into it.Yet the Beast was by my side—something I was grateful for that night.It was the first time we had—how shall I put it—bonded?
He was exactly what I needed him to be, and I was so thankful that he was there; otherwise, I think I’d have thrown myself off the balcony.
Over the past few weeks, we’ve settled into a comfortable routine, but I’m restless today.My impending future keeps rattling in my brain, and the thought that I have no plan, no way of escaping, is starting to aggravate me.So a trip to the plaza felt like the only way I could get out of the house and feel even slightly normal.
Now in the car park, I try to keep a few steps ahead of the Hellhound.It winds him up when I don’t stay by his side like a good girl, and my rebellious self is feeling undernourished.
I quicken my step, and I hear him huff behind me as he jogs to keep up.
“You’re slowing me down, Beast,” I tell him as I up my pace into a gentle run.
I’m almost to the car and enjoying this little game when a man dressed in black with his hood raised over a baseball cap steps out from behind a parked car and directly into my path.
We almost collide, but I jump back as he gets a good look at me.
“Hey there, you looking for a good time, little lady?”He tips the brow of his cap as his words roll in my stomach.
