Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
My stare drops to our joined hands, unable to stomach looking into his eyes, despite knowing just how badly he deserves it. “It wasn’t a home invasion,” I tell him, my voice breaking on the words.
“What do you mean?” he questions, sitting forward and searching my face for answers.
At this, I finally look up at him and my world crumbles all over again. “It wasn’t a home invasion,” I repeat. “It was Christian Baxter.”
His brows furrow in confusion, shaking his head, not understanding how they could possibly be connected. “Christian Baxter?”
I nod ever so slightly. “I’m sorry,” I cry, heavy sobs tearing from my chest as I try to get the words out. “He buzzed the gate, and I didn’t look before I pressed the button. Then he was at the front door with two men, and they just . . . they barged their way in. Christian said he knew what I was doing, what I was investigating.” The tears sail down my face as I watch his heart break in front of my eyes. “This was my warning to stop.”
Tank releases my hand, and I watch the array of emotions rocking through this stare. Heartache, agony, fury, devastation. One after another until finally, those eyes that I love so much are cold and dead.
Tank gets up from his chair and starts pacing the room, his whole body shaking with rage when he stops and looks back at me, his lips pressing into a hard line. Unshed tears well in his eyes, staring at me with a fierce betrayal. “Fuck, Sophie,” he breathes, barely able to hold onto his will to keep going. “I told you to stop. To forget it. I begged you.”
The tears pool in my eyes, not able to find the words that could ever make this okay. “I’m sorry,” I breathe, the very last remnants of my soul burning into ashes.
Tank shakes his head at my pathetic excuse for an apology, still trying to process as he realizes that this is all on me. My actions took our son. He doesn’t say another word, and we’re left sitting in a heavy, broken silence. Though this silence feels different, painful . . . final.
It could be minutes or hours, but when a soft knock sounds at the door and Dani’s face appears in my room, I instantly burst into tears. Dani comes rushing in, desperately trying to hand Mia off to Miller. She climbs on the side of my bed as best she can and holds me as we both cry for my son.
“Sophie,” Tank’s voice says over the fogginess of my nightmare, my body flinching as I relive their violent attack in my unconscious mind.
My eyes spring open to find Tank hovering above me, but he isn’t alone. Detective Andrews stands by his side, trying to look as intimidating as ever, but I’ve known the guy for years. He just can’t pull it off. Well, not with me anyway.
“What’s he doing here?” I question Tank. After all, he knows just how much I hate this guy.
From the look on Tank’s face, I already know what he’s going to say. “You’re going to hand over your investigation to Detective Andrews. You have no place looking into this further.”
“But—” I start.
“No, Sophie,” Tank cuts in. “There are no buts here. We’ve already lost our child. You’d be a fool to pursue this any further. I’m not going to let you risk your life for this asshole. I’m not losing you too.”
I hear what he’s saying, and I completely get where he’s coming from, but now this thing with Baxter is personal. He came into my home. He ordered those men to touch me. He was the one who put me in this hospital and caused the death of my son.
The second I woke up in this room, the need within me to continue this case instantly tripled. I want nothing more than to nail this bastard. I want to be the one who puts him away. I want to watch as his scrawny ass is handcuffed and put behind bars, and I want him to know that I was the one who took it all away from him. That I was the one who nailed him. That I was the one who took away everything he cares about, just as he has done to me.
I look up at my husband with tears in my eyes. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I need to see him put away.”
“I’m sorry, Soph,” he says, his heart breaking right in front of me. “There’s no choice here. I’ve watched you do this job against my better judgment, and now look at you. You need to let this one go. Let the cops do their job. They’ll get him.”
I know he’s right, but coming to terms with it tears at my already crippled chest. I let out a breath and slowly nod my head as my eyes leave Tank’s and look down at my broken body.