Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
35
CHIARA
Stepping off Killian’s private jet onto the tarmac in France is surreal. How the hell is this my life? Last night I was in the center of a human trafficking ring, being gang raped and sold, and tonight, I’m in France.
What are the chances?
Killian meets me at the bottom of the stairs, and as he places his hand on my lower back, the soft breeze sends my blood-red silk gown blowing behind me. Can’t deny it, the moment he told me I could dress for the occasion, I took full advantage.
My gown is everything and makes me feel like the woman Killian deserves. The gown I wore to the dreaded family gala was dazzling in all the right ways, but this one is sexy and makes me feel alive. It plunges deep between my breasts as the slit in the side trails right up to my hip. Every scar those men left on me is visible, but I don’t feel the need to cover them up, not around Killian.
The deep red of the gown seems fitting considering what we’re here to do, and after bunching my thick hair into a high ponytail, I paired the dress with combat boots and a knife strapped to my thigh. Because what kind of mafia wife burns the world to ashes any other way?
Killian helps me into the car and explains that it’s almost a two-hour drive into the countryside to the bunker, and as the driver hits the gas, Killian takes my hand. His thumb is soothing against my skin, gently roaming back and forth across my knuckles.
He’s had no issues touching me since bringing me home, but he always allows me to determine how much I’m comfortable with. Though he should know where he’s concerned, I don’t ever want to hold back. I don’t know how that relates to sex yet, but the idea of not being able to be physical with Killian kills me more than the memories of what those men did to me.
I gaze out at the picturesque view, taking in everything around me. It’s still so surreal.
This is France! But not only that, I came here in a silk gown on a private jet with a man who looks at me as though I’m his entire world, as though everything could be burning to ashes around him and all he would see is me. This just doesn’t happen for girls like me.
The drive to the bunker goes by faster than I could imagine, and as the driver rolls to a stop, I stare out the window and scrunch my face.
We must be lost.
All I see are rolling hills covered by the late afternoon sun. Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the most stunning landscapes I’ve ever seen, but there’s no bunker here. Not that I’ve ever been in a bunker or know what to even look for, but surely there’d be some sign, right?
Killian opens the door and gets out before striding around to my side and offering me his hand like a perfect gentleman. I get out, combat boots and all, and before I know it, we’re marching out into the long grass.
There are lots of ways I pictured this going, but a trek through the countryside wasn’t exactly on the bingo list.
For forty-five minutes, we walk over the rolling hills while Killian holds on to me, making sure I’m doing okay on the rough terrain, but as long as he’s by my side, I’ll always be okay. “Whose brilliant idea was it to build this thing so far away?”
“Mine,” he states. “It’s a safe house. The idea is that it is safe. If anybody were able to locate it, it wouldn’t be so safe, now would it?”
“Don’t you try and use logic with me mid-trek, bossman,” I mutter. “Besides, I thought it was an underground bunker, not a safe house.”
“Same thing.”
“Same thing?” I scoff. “They are so not the same thing. To me, an underground bunker is an oversized shipping container dropped into the earth. Add a shitty cardboard bed, a scratchy blanket, and non-perishable food. But a safe house . . . I uhmmmm . . . I actually don’t know what to expect out of a safe house, but I can assure you, it’s not the same thing.”
Killian rolls his eyes. “If you’re done droning on about safe houses and bunkers, we’re here.”
“We’re where?” I ask, looking around.
He lets out a heavy sigh, and as he cuts through the long grass, I begin to see the concealed opening cut into a hill. “What the fuck?” I breathe as we walk straight into the dugout and come to a huge metal door that looks capable of protecting the people inside from a missile strike.
Killian steps right up to it and leans in, and I watch in surprise as his eyeballs are scanned like some kind of entry code. “Okay, James Bond. Are we about to walk into your secret headquarters?”