Unleashing Sin: A Slow Burn Dark Romance by A. M. Wilson

Author:A. M. Wilson [Wilson, A. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-08T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Shelby

We skipped making lunch at the house and swung by a deli place for sandwiches that we ate in the car on the way to the store. I just barely managed to talk Alex out of going to an outlet mall and opted for a single department store in a nearby suburb instead. He said the brands were good here, nowhere near high-end, but not the lowest either. Even though I would have preferred to spend the least amount of money possible, he argued that I wasn’t wearing “that cheap shit,” and I was done arguing.

He swung the car into a parking space nearest to the doors, and as I reached over for a final drink of my lemonade, he barked out, “Wait here,” and climbed from the driver’s seat. I nearly swallowed my drink wrong and watched nervously as he rounded the hood of the car and stopped outside my door. He waited until I set the drink down and unbuckled my seat belt before opening my door and waiting for me to step out. As soon as I was clear, he slammed it shut, hit the locks, and snugly took my hand in his.

The gesture warms me and brings back our earlier conversation. He didn’t let me have a single second of worrying if he’d go back on his word.

His confident strides eat up the parking lot. He holds the door open for me, and once we’re inside, he scans the area for a few seconds before leading me in the direction he wants to go. I’m trying to keep up while simultaneously taking everything in. The smell and the look of the place come flooding back as I’m hit with my first pre-kidnapping memory since I’ve been free. I remember being in this store. Not this specific location probably, but this store. The colors and the smells are familiar. The layout and the brand. I’d bet I went school shopping here when I was younger.

We walk down the left and take a right down another long main aisle. At the end, he turns left again and stops.

“The women’s department,” he says, using his free hand to gesture in front of us.

“There’s so much stuff here I don’t know where to start,” I admit nervously.

He looks down at me with a small smirk. “It won’t take you long to figure it out.” With my hand tightly in his, he leads me between the racks of clothes straight to the jeans. He points to three racks in front of us. “Like any of these?”

I nod. One style is a dark navy blue that flares out a little more at the bottom of the leg. The next style holds black jeans that are the opposite—they taper in and have angled zippered pockets at the top. The third rack is also blue, but a lighter denim similar to the pair I had at Alex’s this morning. “I like them all.”

Alex grabs a pair of sizes 2 and 4 from each rack and drapes them over his arm.

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