Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 120472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
I nod against his side, his words sending a wave of warmth crashing through my body. “Okay,” I tell him, feeling myself slipping into unconsciousness. “But if that were to change, if something happens and you suddenly didn’t feel the need to keep me around, would you let me know?”
“That’s not going to happen,” he says so damn sure of himself. “Now sleep, you’ve had a long night.”
13
ROMAN
Shayne’s bite mark lingers on my arm and I stare down at the perfect impression of her teeth, bruised and scarred, a chilling reminder of the fresh hell she went through at my hands six days ago.
I’m the worst fucking thing to have ever happened to her. I knew this world was going to kill her, I just never expected it to have been so soon and by my hand. She was supposed to thrive here, she was supposed to be our fucking queen, and now she can’t even look at me.
What the fuck have I done? She screamed until her lungs gave out, she cried and begged us to listen, begged us to stop, but I wouldn’t hear it. I couldn’t see past my own fury to see that she was telling the truth, to see that she had our backs just as we should have had hers. All I could see was Marcus bleeding out on her bed, Levi’s hands in his chest, struggling to keep him alive, and Shayne running with nothing but fear in her eyes.
I didn’t even stop to question it. My mind was fucking set. She did this and she was going to pay.
I can still feel the warmth of her blood on my hands as the shard of glass pulled free from her stomach, the pressure of her body squirming beneath me as I held her down for Levi to hurt. These images flow through my mind like rapids, constantly rising and threatening to pull me beneath their frothy surface. The same screams I've delighted in are haunting me, reminding me what I've done.
I’ve killed countless men in my time. I’ve watched them choke on their own blood, smelled the fear in the air as their lives were brutally taken, and I fucking loved it. I’ve always washed the blood off my hands and moved on to the next victim, but I can’t do that, not with Shayne. Her blood had stained my hands and no matter how much I scrub it away, the marks will never fade.
She deserves so much better than this world, but I won’t ever let her go. Not now, not after tasting those lips on mine. I’m in too deep and the worst part is that she doesn’t even know. She hasn’t got a fucking clue about the effect she has over me and my brothers, not even Marcus. He’ll never admit to her just how deep his affections run. Hell, the fucker wouldn’t even know it himself. He’s in love with her and he has no fucking idea because he’s never been taught what it means to love.
We’ve been conditioned to believe that to love means to be weak. It’s part of the reason my father took Ariana away from me. We were too close, too real, and he couldn’t fucking stand it. What a fucking brutal lesson that was.
Trying to put the intrusive thoughts to the back of my head, I focus on Shayne’s bite mark. It's still red and raw, even after so many days. But since the moment Marcus woke up and confirmed she was telling the truth, this bite has served as a constant reminder, not letting me forget for even a moment what I’ve done.
This bite mark serves as a symbol of weakness, a pledge to earn her forgiveness, a vow to be a better man for her. Not that she’ll ever take me after what I’ve done, but I have nothing but time to make it up to her, to be whatever she needs in the world until she finally sees just how fucking good we could be. She’s had a taste for it now. I felt the way she melted into my arms, how she consumed my kiss like it was her last moments on earth, and whether she’s prepared to admit it or not, she feels something for me, which is exactly why I can’t bear to see her bite fading from my arm.
Dipping the tattoo gun back into the small ink pot, I get straight back to work. Relishing the pain of the fine needles digging into my skin as I start my outline, more determined than ever to see this mark on my arm until my dying days.
I will never forget what I’ve done to her and this will serve as my reminder of her pain, a reminder of what I took from her.