Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“Were they happy?” she asks. “Your family.”
My tone is hostile. “My family is none of your business.”
She nods, accepting the verbal slap in the face with surprising calm. “How old were you when he died?”
Is she fucking nuts, asking me about that? How dare she throw that question at me when her father is the reason mine is dead? Doesn’t she know how close I am to crushing her windpipe? But no. How can she know? My father died eighteen years ago. I was fifteen. She would’ve been six years old. A child. Innocent. I realize that. Still, Warren’s blood flows in her veins. I hate her for it as much as I hate my body for reacting to her, no matter that it makes my self-proclaimed task of bedding her easier. The unjustness isn’t lost on me, but since when have our lives been fair?
I don’t have the excuse of last night’s alcohol blurring the lines. I need to get away from her before I do something I’ll regret, something like smashing her body against the wall and making her come in my hand again. The memory of how soft and warm she felt in my palm is too fresh.
I’m about to turn away when she says, “He won’t give you the diamond.”
“Is that so?” Animosity mixed with curiosity tightens the muscles around my eyes. “Why not?”
Her tone is apathetic. “Not all fathers love their daughters enough.”
That pauses me—not the statement as much as the lack of emotion. Indifference masks the deepest hatred.
“If he doesn’t, are you going to kill me?” she asks, holding my gaze as she bravely awaits the verdict.
“No,” I say slowly, as if I haven’t already made up my mind from the word go.
Distrust glimmers in her eyes. Repeating my question, she asks, “Why not?”
Unable to keep my hands to myself, I cup her jaw. In contrast to the gentleness of my touch, my words are measured. “Because you’re wrong. He’ll give it to me.”
She winces at my tone. “What makes you so certain?”
I give her a cold smile. “I won’t give him a choice.”
CHAPTER 7
Christina
* * *
Roman delivers the vague answer with emotionless eyes. Leaving me on the stairs, he walks away. The burn of his fingers lingers on my skin, yet where the touch penetrates deeper it turns me to frost inside. How easily he gets to me is frightening. I must be careful with my heart around him. He knows how to break through my defenses. He’s clever at reading me.
I won’t give him a choice.
What does that mean? What are Roman’s plans? He wants to have sex with Evie to shame her and her family. To have your daughter deflowered by your enemy is a terrible humiliation. The damage is irreparable. No one will want to marry Evie if the truth is known, and Roman will make sure it’s known. Then he’ll return her like discarded piece of garbage in exchange for his late father’s diamond. Bell won’t pay for my life with the diamond. I don’t even think he would’ve paid for Evie’s life with the diamond if she’d been damaged. Yet Roman sounded certain that Bell would yield to the demand. What is he playing at?
I’m not entirely unsympathetic to Roman’s cause. I saw the pain in his eyes when he looked at the portrait of his family. I of all people know how Bell operates. He didn’t earn that diamond fair and square. The staff in Bell’s household talk. He gave Daniel Malan a loan with an impossibly high interest rate, knowing Daniel would never be able to pay it back. He did it because he had his eye on that diamond, all along. It was worth a lot more than the money Daniel owed. Bell did nothing less than steal it. Just like he stole my life. It’s ironic that I can’t confess how much I hate Bell. Everything else aside, Roman and I are on the same side. Except for the fact that he’ll kill me if he finds out I’m not who I pretend to be.
Turning away from the smiling faces of the people in the portrait, I make the most of the liberty Roman has granted me by familiarizing myself with the house. I’ve learned not to waste any freedom. You never know how long it will last. My feet still hurt as I make my way down the stairs, but the bandages help. After my shower this morning, I applied fresh ointment and bandages. I can’t afford to let my wounds get infected. I need my health to fight, to play this role until Bell gets me out.
At the bottom of the staircase, I cross a foyer. A spacious lounge on the left is decorated similarly to the bedrooms with white sofas and black scatter cushions. The big windows give a magnificent view of the city. In the daylight, I can make out the rocky outcrops that are landmarks of Roodepoort. Judging by the big houses lying below, the neighborhood is affluent. We’re in Florida Hills. I should’ve known. Roman Malan rules the western suburbs and towns around Johannesburg. Bell’s empire encompasses the east.