Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
42
Frankie
—
Three days later, Coast Guardsmen find a submerged boat in the Sitka Sound. The investigation concludes that a damaged hull caused the vessel to take on water, lose buoyancy, and capsize in rough waters.
The boat belonged to Doyle Whitaker.
No body has been recovered.
Doyle is still missing.
But the fingerprints on the dismembered hand confirm what we already suspected.
He will never touch you again.
Doyle’s hand was hacked off with the fillet knife, messily, passionately, without precision or surgical training.
That doesn’t rule out the medical staff at the hospital, but it makes my colleagues a little less suspect.
Of course, the men in my life don’t agree.
Despite their roaring, chest-pounding, overprotective objections, I return to work.
Stepping into the trauma unit in my scrubs feels like emerging from a long, dark tunnel into the blinding light.
The familiar sterile scent of the hospital, the beeping monitors, the hushed conversations of doctors and nurses, all greet me like old friends.
I’ve missed this. The routine, the purpose, the distraction.
The hospital staff welcomes me back warmly, even those I don’t know outside the ER. But there’s an undercurrent of curiosity and pity in their eyes. Everyone knows about my situation.
My captivity was all over the news. And the stalker…well, small towns like Sitka don’t keep secrets.
Doesn’t help that I have security stationed at every entry point and following me everywhere.
Now that we know the stalker dismembers people who touch me, I’m not the only one with personal guards. Leo, Kody, and Monty don’t leave the house without their own armed shadows. Additionally, we all have GPS tracking on our phones and can monitor one another’s whereabouts at all times.
Whispers and sympathetic gazes follow me through the hospital. I ignore it and focus on my tasks, relishing the sense of normalcy.
But normalcy is a fragile thing.
An hour into my shift, I’m standing at the nurses’ station, updating patient records with my back to the door, when a gasp sounds beside me.
“Holy Thor.” Nurse Letty claps a hand to her chest. “Did anyone else just lose their breath?”
I freeze.
Oh, no.
“I’ve died and gone to Valhalla,” another nurse says. “I didn’t know they made men like that anymore.”
No, no, no.
I spin and come face to face with glowing, savage, mismatched eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I glance down the hall.
Every woman in the vicinity stares in our direction.
At him.
If they didn’t have a Viking kink, they have one now. He’s going to cause a damn riot.
Leonid Strakh stands under the fluorescent lights looking for all the world like Ragnar Lothbrok has arrived to conquer Britain.
If Britain was me.
Small, tight braids run from his temples, down behind his ears, and twist into a knot on the back of his head, leaving the rest of his hair tangled around his corded neck. Add the sculpted features, chiseled jawline, and leonine scowl, and the man epitomizes Viking savagery and warrior ethos.
When he notices all the female onlookers, he curls his lip like a carnivore, sending them stumbling back and gasping.
Some of them giggle.
I can’t feel my legs.
A white T-shirt molds to his muscled frame. Those low-waisted jeans should be illegal on his powerful physique. But it’s his eyes that strike terror in the trauma unit. One molten gold, the other icy blue, they burn and freeze simultaneously, exuding a dangerous aura that buzzes the air.
The women in the corridor can’t help but stare. And swoon. If a heart monitor sounded right now, no one would respond. Even the men have fallen under his trance.
“Leo.” Forcing a smile, I stride toward him, grab his wrist, and drag him around the corner. “You can’t be here.”
“Stay there.” He jabs a finger at one of his personal guards and sweeps me into an empty cubicle, closing the curtain.
Pressing against me, he traps me with his body and weakens me with his scent. The dark, masculine aroma of motorcycle exhaust wraps around me, draws me in, makes my pulse quicken, and my breath catch.
And his face. Lord help me, he’s beautiful and fierce. Godlike and predatory. High cheekbones, straight nose, and lips that could tempt the Virgin Queen of England.
My body betrays me, heat pooling low in my belly, a flush creeping up my neck. It takes everything in me to compose myself, to remember where I am and what I’m here to do.
My heart races, but I force a calm I don’t feel, pulling away with practiced professionalism.
“This is ridiculous.” He reaches for me again. “You’re risking your life.”
“So are you. I’m working.” I stop him with a hand on his chest. “I have guards, and you’re supposed to be studying for an exam.”
“I don’t need to study.”
“I don’t need you causing a scene in the ER. Go to the distillery and help Kody.”
His gaze bores into mine, giving me the full force of his arctic animalism. It’s too much, the intensity of those eyes, the way they strip me bare. But I stand my ground, meeting that primal expression head-on.