Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Turning my attention back to the locket, I scoop the necklace up again, hoping he didn’t see me looking at it. That’s all I need, for him to tell Nicolo I’d been rummaging through his belongings.
I clear my throat and answer, “I was just changing the sheets. Sarah drew me a map of the rooms I’m supposed to hit.”
His eyes narrow in a suspecting way, like he knows I’m full of shit. “You were looking at something. What was it?”
Fuck. I clutch my hand tighter around the locket and try not to fidget too much to draw his attention to it, but it’s pointless. He already knows. Fear trickles down my spine like a slow-moving creek while anticipation builds in my gut on what his next move will be. In the blink of my eyes, he pushes off the door and stalks across the polished hardwood, snagging my hand mid-motion. My heart skips a full beat, and my lungs seize up.
His fingers squeeze tight around the pressure point in my wrist, and I let out a loud yelp.
“You’re hurting me!” My voice cracks, but the words do nothing to deter him.
“You’re hiding something. Drop it,” he growls through his teeth. The pressure on my wrist becomes too much, so I have no choice but to release the secret tucked into my palm.
Instinct tells me to explain myself, so I lick my dried lips and tell him, “It’s not what you think. I wasn’t stealing it or hiding it.”
Deftly, he catches the necklace to keep it from falling to the floor. Then he shoves my aching arm away as if my skin has burned him.
His big fingers dwarf the piece of jewelry, and I watch him study it, all while easing backward and away from him. This man is unstable, and I don’t want to be within his reach if he lashes out.
“It was our mother’s,” he says, lifting his gaze to mine. His dark eyes are large and unblinking, as if he fears never seeing it again.
I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want an audience, so I tiptoe toward the door but barely make it a few steps before he pounces on me and drags me back by the same—no doubt bruised now—wrist. “I didn’t say you can leave.”
“I just wanted to give you some privacy,” I whisper. It’s all I can manage through the icy chill that now owns the space.
“Is every single word you utter complete bullshit, or do you tell the truth on occasion too?”
I attempt to jerk my hand back, but he maintains his tight grip. The hard edge of his tone is one I recognize from him accosting me twice now. Even as afraid as I am of him, I don’t want to be seen as a pushover. I stand tall and straighten my spine.
“What do you want me to say? I don’t want to be within two feet of you because I know you’re counting the seconds until you can kill me. I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m alive right now is because Nicolo intends to use me for some purpose that may, or may not, include selling me to make a lot of money.”
He shifts and gently places the locket on the bedside table, letting the locket hit the dark wood before slowly lowering the chain on top of it to obscure the engraving. It’s an act of patience, of mercy, of love. So at odds with his collage of tattoos and menacing demeanor. I don’t even know Lucas, but I do know he is violence and rage wrapped up with a tight bow.
When he faces me again, he looks a little more composed and less like he wants to plunge a knife into my gut just to see what’s inside me. “My mother was murdered.”
Shit. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” The platitude slips from my lips so easily I wince at the end. Lucas’s dark features remain the same, and he reminds me of a thunderstorm barreling right for you. You’re prepared for the rain and mayhem, but you never know the true destruction until the wind settles.
“Really, I am sorry. Even more so if you loved her.”
He cocks a questioning brow. “You don’t love your mother?”
I shrug. “I don’t even know my mother, not really. She never gave a shit about my sister or me. We were the half-assed fulfillment of a marriage contract.” I don’t know why I’m telling him this. He doesn’t care about my family, my mother, or me. All he cares about is making me pay for something my father did to him.
When he doesn’t respond, I gently try to pull my hand back, but he doesn’t budge. I try to remain calm, but it’s hard with the mammoth of a man before me. “I really should get back to work. Sarah is bound to come hunting for me any minute now.”