Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 20854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 104(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 104(@200wpm)___ 83(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
So no, I have no remorse for what I’ve done.
My only regret is that I didn’t strangle him with my bare hands.
The longer he remains still on the ground, the more my rage begins to ebb. Reality comes back into focus. I’ve just killed my boss. A powerful man. And I did it in front of Fawn.
I’ve subjected her to violence after I promised repeatedly to keep it out of our lives.
Still, this has to be an exception, right? He threatened to take her away from me. He has the means to do it, too. A hundred men at his disposal. I would have fought like an animal. I could have fended off ten men, maybe even twenty, but I can’t be everywhere at once. And I’m not bulletproof, either. This was kill or be killed.
One last death on my hands.
Commit murder or lose the best thing in my life.
My angel. My poor angel must be terrified.
She’ll understand, won’t she? She’ll understand I had to do it.
My heart bounces side to side in my throat as I stumble into the bathroom. I lunge toward the shower, my deafening roar of denial echoing off the walls. Red coats my vision. A fine sheen of icy cold sweat becomes a layer on top of my skin. Spinning around, I notice the open window and I don’t think twice, I simply start running. Past my boss and out the front door of my house, searching left to right wildly. Straight ahead.
The only entrance and exit to the compound is closed. And unless she knew what to look for, a slight break in the greenery, she’d miss it. There is no other way out. Not unless she climbed the walls. But my property is large and dense. There are plenty of places to hide among the foliage. That she would hide from me at all makes me bay brokenly, turn in a dizzy, sickening circle. Where is she?
“Fawn!”
My heart breaks into a million pieces at the silence that follows. For a moment, I wonder if she was only ever alive in my imagination. How else could such a perfect being want to be with me? But no. No, I can smell her on my skin. Her claw marks are still visible on my chest. My fucking head is full of her. Every smile, every giggle, every word she’s said to me.
“Fawn, please. I’m sorry.” I circle around the right side of the house, searching the tree line for any sight of her. She’s scared. She’s probably so scared and it’s my fault. I should have prepared her for my boss’s murder, even briefly. I should have handled it differently. At the very least, I should have closed the bathroom door so she wouldn’t have to witness the taking of another man’s life. “Baby, come out. You know you don’t have to be scared of me. I would die a million deaths before I let someone nick your pinkie finger.”
There’s a rustle in the bushes up ahead and I see a flash of light blue.
I run in that direction and find her huddled in a ball on the leafy ground, her knees pulled up to her chest. Tears are streaming down her face. She’s trembling so hard, her teeth are chattering. Wearing nothing but a hastily pulled on towel. The sight nearly fells me. Someone might as well rake a claw hammer through my gut.
“Fawn…”
“I know.” She swipes at her eyes. “I know what you’re going to say. You had to kill him. You had no choice. But you didn’t even try to reason with him. You didn’t even try.”
“I’m sorry for breaking my promise to you. I never should have made it in the first place, knowing what Frank is capable of. I should have known he’d want you for himself.” I dig the muzzle of the gun into my temple, possessiveness spearing me like a freshly sharpened sword. “Every man in this fucking world is going to want you for himself!”
“And you’ll want to kill them all.” She sniffs, shakes her head sadly. “I can’t watch that happen over and over again.”
She’s right. I won’t be able to control myself when she’s at stake.
There is no reason or rationality when it comes to this girl.
“Come here.” My breathing is ragged. “Let me hold you and we’ll talk about this.”
A teardrop rolls down her cheek, her attention dropping to something in my hand—and I realize I’m still holding the gun. Slowly, I set down the firearm a few feet away, so she doesn’t have to look at it. So she doesn’t have to be reminded I’m a monster. But she still doesn’t come to me. She simply huddles more securely into the towel, a broken angel in the weeds.
We’re at a bleak impasse.
She doesn’t want a life of violence.