Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 176345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 882(@200wpm)___ 705(@250wpm)___ 588(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 882(@200wpm)___ 705(@250wpm)___ 588(@300wpm)
The salmon slips down my throat. “You’re really weird, you know that?”
“I don’t deny that,” he says, and he plucks one off the board to eat. “I just don’t hide it.”
Why does that feel like a dig toward me?
“Anyway, please don’t be mad at Nathan,” he says, catching me off guard. “He only did those things because he needs to protect Rory.”
“From what?” I ask.
He looks at the door before returning his attention to me. “His parents are real gamblers. They were rich, but they also couldn’t stop spending, and they got involved with the wrong crowd. Kept borrowing money from the wrong people. And when the police caught on to their money laundering schemes, they went down for the crime, leaving Nathan all by himself with his sister.”
Wow. No wonder he’d go that far to keep her out of harm’s way.
“I know he’s done some bad shit, but he did it for the right reasons.”
Suddenly, someone clears their throat, and we both stop eating. Nathan’s leaning with his arms folded against the doorway, his eyes practically shooting bullets at Milo.
And Milo immediately starts cleaning up the counter, putting all the food away with just as much swiftness as he pulled it out for me.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Feeding her,” he replies.
His brow lifts. “Why?”
Why does Nathan make it sound like he thinks Milo had ulterior motives?
He frowns. “She was hungry. Why else?”
He rolls his eyes and sighs out loud.
“Shouldn’t you be with Rory?” Milo asks.
“She’s asleep,” he retorts. “In your bed.”
“Oh …” Milo responds, but then a wicked smile spreads on his face. “Oh, that means I can sleep with you.”
“Not yet,” Nathan says and turns his attention toward me. “Come with me.”
I just stare at him.
Milo points at both of us. “Who? Me or her?”
“Lana.”
I almost want to flip him the bird again, but then I remember the smile on that little girl’s face and just how much their hug affected me.
Maybe I owe it to myself to listen to him.
I hop off the stool and follow Nathan, too curious to know what’s going on to leave now.
He walks me upstairs, hands casually in the pockets of his pants as he strolls to a room not far ahead in the hallway and opens the door for us. I peek over his shoulder at the beautiful blue-painted walls and portraits hanging from the wall, along with a cozy fireplace in the corner. In the middle is a large king-sized bed. But it’s the metal clasps on the wall to the right that draw my attention, along with all the whips, chains, and toys hanging from the hooks.
“What’s this?” I ask, stepping inside slowly.
He closes the door behind me. “My bedroom.”
I swallow and look around, but it’s hard to take everything in with him breathing down my neck. “Now you know why I did what I did.”
“To protect your sister.”
“Do you hate me?”
The question catches me off guard, and when I open my mouth, I don’t know what to say.
Do I hate him? Or do I just hate his attempt at wringing money from me solely to save his family? Could I even stay mad knowing the truth?
When I don’t answer, he circles me and stops in front of my face. “You can tell me the truth. I know you do.”
“You had no right,” I say, shaking my head.
“You would’ve done the same for your family.”
I swallow. I could lie and deny that, but we both know he’s right.
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask.
He sighs out loud and sits down on the bed behind him, hands splayed behind him.
“I just … wanted to talk with you.”
I fold my arms. “Okay then, talk.”
He looks at me, and the pain in his eyes almost makes me waver. But I have to remember he will always be a Phantom first. An evil boy dead set on making my life miserable just because he knows about my vigilante side job.
He pats the bed. “Come. Sit with me.”
After a while, I cave. And I don’t know whether it’s because I feel forced due to the nature of our arrangement, or because of the way he asks.
“Milo told you about my family,” he says. “Didn’t he?”
I nod. “They’re in jail because of fraud. Something to do with a bad gamble with dangerous people.”
He lowers his head between his shoulders. “My parents only cared about making more and more money, no matter what it cost them.” He looks around at all the expensive furniture and the paintings on the wall. “But all the money in the world couldn’t buy us the safety we need now.”
“They’re still after you?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. After my parents were ratted out to the cops, the collectors came for their remaining debts, but they left me with nothing. We scrambled together every bill by stealing …”