Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Not here.
Where I’d never been seen with Renzo, save for at our private wedding and at a party in our own apartment with only his close friends in attendance.
My jacket tightened around my chest, making the whole breathing thing even more of a wish and prayer than actuality as I was whipped over onto my back.
“No no no no no,” I cried as his hand grabbed for the zipper of my jacket, yanking it down.
Looking, likely, for a purse hidden under it. Out of reach.
“No!” I yelled, finding a louder voice, trying to project it, to bring attention to what was happening.
“Shut the fuck up! Shut up!” he growled as I opened my mouth to scream.
I didn’t get a chance to.
Not as he cocked back and swung.
The punch landed to the side of my lips, the pain ricocheting up until it overtook the entire side of my face as I tasted blood.
“Where’s your fucking money?” he growled as I whimpered, reaching up to cover my face. “Shut up!” he snarled again, his hand pressing down over my mouth as his other one roamed over me, fingers brushing over my chest, down my side, lower.
I was fighting then, scratching and kicking, trying to wiggle away, fear of something much worse than a robbery bubbling up in my system.
It was then his hand ran over the bulge in my front pocket.
His fingers fished in, grabbing the wad of cash, the last bit I had in the world, grabbing it in his greedy fingers, releasing me, and turning to run.
Alone, I sat back up, my face screaming, still tasting blood as I got up on shaky feet.
A tremble had started over my whole body as I looked around, hoping for someone to ask for help.
Before, suddenly, I was cupping my throbbing face, turning, and running back where I’d come from, passing curious faces.
But this was the city.
People minded their own business.
It wasn’t until I was emerging from the elevator, tears streaming down my face, blood trickling from the split in my lip, that someone gave a single damn about what might have happened to me.
“What the fuck—“ Elian snapped, jumping to his feet.
But I didn’t want to talk.
Not even to him, the only person in this life of mine who seemed to care about me at all.
I wanted to get inside.
“Open it,” I cried, hating the pathetic sound of my voice.
“Okay. Alright. Okay,” Elian said, voice echoing the helplessness I knew he must be feeling as he punched in the code.
I didn’t wait for him to push it open, grabbing the handle with my road rash palm, and throwing it open before running into the apartment, up the stairs, and into the bedroom.
Where I could break down in private.
My shaky legs took me into the bathroom, where I caught sight of myself in the mirror, the tear-stained cheeks, the split lip still trickling down my chin and off onto my shirt, a bruise forming up my cheek.
I needed to clean my face. My hands.
But all I could seem to do was walk back into the bedroom and collapse onto the edge of the bed, cradling my face, rocking. Too numb even to cry as the adrenaline started to drain, leaving me feeling racy and unfocused.
I don’t know how long I sat like that, lost in the nothingness of disassociation.
But I heard the door below me swing open.
And some part of me wanted to yell down to Elian to just leave me alone. That his kindness and care only reminded me just how much I wanted that from Renzo. And how I was never going to get it.
I didn’t quite register that there was no way that Elian would swing the door open so hard that it cracked against the wall.
Or that he would be running through the apartment. Footsteps heavy and quick.
It wasn’t until I heard my name, a raised, almost panicked plea for a response in the voice I liked so much that I realized it wasn’t Elian at all.
“Lore!” Renzo’s voice filled the apartment, making that stupid, traitorous heart of mine flutter. “Lore!” he called again, voice getting closer as I heard the thunder of his footfalls on the stairs.
Then, suddenly, the bedroom door was flying open.
And there he was.
The very man who was to blame for all my despondency since I’d moved into this new neighborhood, this new home.
And, yet, somehow, the only person I wanted to see.
I watched as his gaze fell on me, taking in the blood on my shirt, on my chin, my mouth, and the bruise sneaking up my cheek, likely getting darker with each passing minute.
It was fury first. A bright, blazing anger that burned in his eyes, that tightened his handsome features, that had a muscle ticking hard in his jaw. Even his hands weren’t immune from it, curling into tightened fists, wanting to crash into something, someone.