Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
And I don't know how to make peace with that.
I straighten my shoulders and take my power stance. I draw in a deep breath and turn to face Flo and Helena, who seems to have pulled herself together.
"Thank you. I'm fine.”
I want to go home.
Only the word home has a hollow sound to it now. I’ve considered the club my home. For the first time in a long, long time, I’ve allowed myself to have a home, friends, a place to return to, a sense of belonging.
But now I want to go back to the place Adriano and I call home, only I'm not sure I want to face it with him. Not now.
When I go back into the club, it almost looks as if everything is back to normal. Almost.
The only indication that anything has changed is a dent in the wall where Adriano threw the man.
Adriano, Sergio, Mario, and a few other men sit at a table in the corner of the room. Sergio and Mario sit on either side of Adriano, like immovable titans made of stone. Adriano's eyes meet mine, smoldering across the room.
I walk to him. I don't know what to say, because I’m numb, still in shock, and I don't trust myself. I take one look at him and my heart surges in my chest.
I love him. I love every part of him, even the brutal, broken parts. Just like he does me.
But after all that I’ve witnessed him do, is that enough?
"I want to go home.”
His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that would have knocked my knees together a few months ago, but now I stand and take it, because that's what it means to be in love with a man like him.
“I’ll go with you.”
“The hell you will,” Sergio says in a low voice. “You have to let her go, Adriano. We need to sort some shit out here before you go anywhere.”
Adriano glares at Sergio but Sergio only shakes his head once. “You do not want to go there with me right now, brother.”
Shit. Intense much?
"Fine," Adriano says. "I'll be home soon, Quinn."
I nod. I need a little time to myself, but I do want him to come home soon, because we need to talk.
He nods at the usual passel of bodyguards that follow me out.
"I can open my own door," I say tightly. I'm starting to feel a little smothered.
Bruce talks into a phone, and Eden meets me at the door to the kitchen as I walk toward the exit.
"Are you okay, Quinn?"
I nod, because I don't know how to answer that. Am I physically hurt? No. Am I okay?
Well, no.
I'm not hurt, but I'm not ready to talk either, so I don't think it's dishonest. "I'll see you tomorrow." Eden gives me a quick hug, and then her own gaze flicks from one bodyguard to the next. "Take care of her. If I hear that you took your eyes off her for a second, I’m calling my husband, and you do not want me to do that."
It's unlike Eden to address any of Sergio or Adriano's staff. I wonder what prompted this.
Maybe she loves me, too. I reach for her hand and give it a tight, silent squeeze before I enter the car.
When I finally get back to our apartment—his apartment? I don't know anymore—I wander around aimlessly, walking on the gleaming hardwood floor in my bare feet, trying to make sense of it all.
He keeps everything so tucked up, so tightly wound, that when he finally lets himself loose, he loses his mind.
I think back to what Starla told me, about the little boy on the street blacklisted from anyone who could help him. I think about what Helena told me, casually mentioning how many men he killed that came in contact with a former girlfriend. I think about what Eden said about him killing that very same girlfriend…
Do I really know him? I barely know myself, why do I think that I actually know who he is?
Do I really trust him? My knees wobble, and I reach for a chair. I find myself sitting awkwardly at his desk. Like everything else in Adriano's home, it's stark and bare. I bury my head in my arms.
My elbow touches something cold. I ignore it at first, too consumed with my feelings… and my fears. I don't realize I'm crying again until I feel the dampness on my arms.
I sit up impatiently, swiping at the cold metal at my elbow.
A key. I look around the apartment, knowing that guards are tucked away in various corners, behind doors, at the front and back. No one's getting in here.
Then why does my skin prickle? Why is a sudden flare of awareness making me feel very, very awake?
I pick up the key on the desk and finger it. I remember rifling through his wallet. Trying to find out who my husband is.