Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
The door opens when my hand is still poised to knock. Starla rolls her eyes skyward and motions me inside.
“Get your ass in here before you collapse,” she says with a sigh. “God, Timeo, what were you thinking?”
I brush past her into the room and immediately sweep it.
“Timeo,” she says, her pretty little hands on her hips as she cocks a brow and watches me. “Romeo Rossi owns this home. Every one of those guards is on his payroll. Do you think for one second he’d have a place that wasn’t as secure as a maximum-security prison, for crying out loud?”
“Does Alcatraz mean anything to you?” I shake my head at her. “It was supposedly the highest security prison ever made, and yet, prisoners managed to escape. And it wasn’t that long ago seven men—seven men!—escaped a maximum-security prison in Texas when they pooled their resources. No place is completely foolproof.”
She purses her lips and I imagine she indulges me as I check the locks on the door, the windows, and the access points by the windows and bathroom.
“Never should’ve let you take a first-floor bedroom,” I mutter under my breath. “Who the fuck said that was okay?”
“Uh, Sergio?” she says with an eye roll so snarky she’d be over my knee if I had full use of my limbs right about now. “He said it was beneficial and healing for me to be near Nonna and Tosca.”
“Did he?” I mutter, double-checking the window locks. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not staying here.”
Starla doesn’t respond. When I turn to see why she’s gone quiet, tears are welling in her eyes.
My thoughts of access points and drones and maximum-security breakouts come to a screeching halt.
I never could stand it when she cried.
And when she wraps her arms around her torso as if to protect herself…from me…
“Why are you here, Timeo?”
“You know why I’m here,” I say, my voice husky. Fuck it, what I wouldn’t give to collapse on the full-size pale pink bed of hers.
Starla tips her head to the side, her eyes filled with sadness and wonder. “Do I? It wasn’t long ago you didn’t even know who I was.”
A pang hits my chest.
“Of course I fucking knew who you were,” I say, taking a step closer to her. My knees wobble, and I want to fucking scream. I hate not being healthy and whole and at full strength. I hate how this makes me feel so goddamn helpless. All I’ve ever wanted was to be able to protect the people I love, and now—
I’m standing so close to her I can see her blue-gray eyes, as delicate and beautiful as flowers I’ve seen in Tosca’s garden. The little bump on her dainty nose, the tiny cleft in her impish chin. The full pink of her cheeks and blush pink of her lips. A streak of hair the color of cotton candy that was once all blonde — like a flash of something rebellious reared its head, but not so much it throws off her equilibrium. Just. Enough.
I reach for her.
My world spins. The floor meets the ceiling, and just in time, I crash onto her bed.
“Oh dear God,” Starla says. “Should I call some—”
“No.” Fuck. “I hate being like this.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“What kind of meds did they give you?”
“Oh, the good stuff,” I say, shaking my head. “Fuck.”
“And Sergio sent you up here to protect me why?”
I open one eye. “Because he knows how invested I am.”
That’s putting it mildly.
Starla perches beside me on the edge of the bed. The light behind her makes her look almost angelic, even as her forehead’s creased and her lips are pinched in concern.
I want to kiss her. I want to grab her gorgeous blonde hair and yank her head down to me. I want to stroke the little flyaway hairs out of her face and kiss the pretty pink apple of each cheek.
I want to get to know the woman who emerged while I was gone.
Protect her, Timeo.
I want to protect her, even if the only threat against her is me.
Just by virtue of being near me, she’s in grave danger. Starla has no idea.
“You still have your gun?” I ask her as she bites aggressively down on her fingernail. “Stop that chewing.” She used to bite her nails down to the quick until they bled. “Haven’t you found another toxic habit by now? Smoking? Drinking? Drugs?” I shake my head.
She frowns at me, that adorable divot forming between her brows. “Did the meds make you bossier, or am I just misremembering?”
“The meds made me less bossy, and you are absolutely misremembering.” I consider her. “Before I left, you were still a girl.”
“Not technically,” she says, shaking her head at me.
I release a ragged breath. “In my eyes you were.”