Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
My legs opened again, even wider.
His chest rose against mine and his hand skimmed down my arm to my waist. He lingered on the inside of my thigh.
I was burning up now.
He repeated, “Why did you feel bad?”
My arms wound tighter around his neck. I stuck my head against his chest and said, my voice muffled, “Because I left them.”
I left them for you.
I bit down on my lip from saying that thought out loud. He’d know how much I wanted him. I started to wonder if I had always wanted him.
“Oh, Emma.” His hand cupped the back of my head and lifted me to face him. My eyes opened to slits as I peered at him. He was studying my mouth, his eyes dark with lust as he murmured, “They’re safe. You’re not. You need to be here with me, where I can make sure you’re safe. You pulled the trigger. You’re the one they want.”
“Jeremy.”
My own voice haunted me. The bang of the gun came back and I felt the kickback in my hand again.
“You have to be quiet. People will hear.”
A sob escaped me and Carter lifted me from the dresser. My arms and legs wound around him, but my head dropped into his chest. Another sob came up and then another. I was crying as he lowered both of us to the bed again, but he held me as I continued. I couldn’t stop crying. As the night progressed, I cried myself back to sleep in his arms.
Carter sat on the edge of the bed. He watched her. She had cried in his arms that night and he wanted to murder whoever caused her the pain. He couldn’t. She had already killed Jeremy, and Franco was a cancer. Struggling to keep his rage under control, he pulled out the nightstand drawer and studied his gun for a moment. It was his trusty friend, one that he had used so many other times when someone needed to disappear. He hadn’t used it in a long time. He hadn’t had to, but the temptation to take matters into his own hand was great. His arm shook as he tried to keep himself from reaching for it. It’d be so easy. He could slip out, no one would know. He would go to Franco and get into his house, but he couldn’t. Franco’s death was a political death. It had to be approved by his family. And even when he would die—and he would die—the Bertal Family would send another. They were all the same. They would do as Franco had done with Cristino. They would take over the last assignment and do more than they needed to prove their authority to the neighborhood.
That couldn’t happen. When Franco died, it had to stop with him. No one could hurt her.
Carter shut the drawer softly and left for the gym. His hands needed to pummel someone so the boxing bag would have to be it. As he went, he was already thinking of ways to ensure that Franco’s death would be the last of it.
Two hours later, he was still considering ways to cement her freedom.
I woke from an empty sleep. His arms weren’t around me. I didn’t feel his legs entwined with mine anymore and when I turned over, I already knew he was gone. The clock said that it was after six in the morning. There were no other lights on, not that I could see, but I rose and grabbed the robe again. I pulled it on as I went in search of him.
I went through every floor and looked in every room. It wasn’t until I got to the bottom floor that I heard him. A light was on and shone underneath a closed door, but I heard thumping from inside the room. As I opened the door, I saw him in the middle of a gym. His black pants were still on, but his shirt was gone and sweat gleamed down his chest. His hands were taped and he was circling a punching bag. There was blood on his tape. I tried to find where he had been hurt, but I didn’t see blood anywhere else. Only sweat and muscles. They constricted and stretched as he continued to hit the punching bag, each illuminated in the stark contrast by the light. I wondered if there was an ounce of fat on him. It didn’t seem likely, but then he stopped as he saw me.
He touched the bag to hold it as it swayed and his chest rose up and down from his breathing. His eyes narrowed when I stepped inside the room. “You couldn’t sleep?”
I shook my head.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to be near him, but I couldn’t say that. What would change then? I held my tongue, though my hands fought against me. They wanted to reach out to him. My feet wanted to cross the room and I wanted to feel his arms around me again. I swung my body back to keep myself from going to him.