Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Van’s married?
Her fingers clenched at her sides. The forced sex between Van and Tate had been harrowing enough. The fact that Van was married made it even worse. She wanted to scream and kick at the unfairness of it, but she kept herself lethargic. She needed Tiago to believe she was too weak and defeated to be threatening.
He went on to describe Tate’s roommates, their house, and the two-hundred-acre property Van shared with his wife. Not once did he mention Camila or Matias. He either hadn’t made the connection between Van and Camila or he was deliberately fucking with Lucia’s head.
The scariest part was his discovery of Van’s wife and Tate’s friends. Tiago knew where they lived and was vindictive enough to go after them.
Even more reason to kill him.
“I’m relocating.” He stood in the center of the room, arms crossed with a knuckle resting beneath his pensive frown. “I found something…a new interest I’m pursuing.”
That was fucking cryptic. And inconsequential. He wouldn’t be leaving this room alive.
“When I let you go,” he said, “you can try to come back for Tate, but he won’t be here. I’m taking him with me.”
The hell he was.
He stared at her like he expected a reaction, and she was more than ready to give him one.
In a series of intentional movements, she surged upward, swayed dizzily, and tumbled back down like a rag doll.
“Lucia.” He watched her in that way he always did, head tilted and eyes tracking her with unfeeling curiosity. “You’re not ready to get up.”
Swinging her legs to the floor, she exaggerated every motion as she climbed to her feet. With staggering steps, she made her limbs look cumbersome and awkward.
While she didn’t glance at the dumbbells, her senses narrowed on the one she wanted. Each weaving, uncoordinated stumble brought her closer, closer…
Close enough.
She let her ankle twist without injuring it, pretended to lose her balance, and angled her fall so that she landed with her fingers next to the dumbbell.
“Always so stubborn.” He strolled toward her with his hands behind him.
Lowering into a crouch beside her hip, he trailed the softest touch down her spine. The glide of his fingers became a rubbing hand that traveled the length of her back. The same hand that had tortured and scarred Tate without mercy.
She lay still beneath the affection, pushing air in and out of her lungs noisily and intentionally. If Tiago would just lower his head a little more, she wouldn’t have to swing so far.
“I’ve treated you badly.” He smoothed his fingers through her hair, gently and rhythmically. “Sometimes, I wish I could undo the things I’ve done. I wish…” His hand paused, and he let it fall to the floor beside her shoulder. “Well, I can’t change my plans for Tate, but you have the power to give him what he wants most. You can start over, stay alive, and move on. He wants you happy, and you can be that for him. His survival is up to you.”
She would do better than that.
With a sweep of her hand across the dumbbell, she curled her fingers around the bar and jerked it from the floor. It was heavier than she expected, and she gritted her teeth, accidentally releasing a warning grunt before swinging it toward his head.
It connected with his temple, and his eyes widened with a gasp. The heavy force of the momentum sent him backwards, and his arms flew up to grab her. But she was ready for it, dodging his hands, rearing back, and striking again.
The second hit landed higher up on his skull, with a crunch of bone, a wet smack, and a dead fall to the floor. He slumped on his back, eyes closed, with his legs bent beneath him. Blood saturated his black hair and spread a slick red pool beneath his head.
I did it.
The weight fell from her shaking hand, and her breath hung in her throat. She waited for him to rise up and attack. Waited for the guards to rush in. Waited for this to not be real.
I actually did it.
I killed him.
I fucking killed Tiago Badell.
Bile rose up, and she dry heaved. No sound. No vomit. Just cold, paralyzing shock.
And sorrow.
It stitched through her chest in pinprick stabs, causing her to double-over.
She didn’t want to feel a damn thing for him, didn’t want to dwell on the tenderness he’d shown her or the soft words he’d whispered. She needed to slam the weight against his head over and over until his face was as mutilated and unrecognizable as Tate’s back.
But she couldn’t.
She wasn’t a monster.
You’re a pretty little flicker of compassion, begging to be extinguished.
She scrambled away from his lifeless body and ran toward the safe in the closet. The detour would be a waste of time, but she couldn’t leave without checking.