Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“Not them. Someone else.”
“Who?”
“There are bad people in this world.”
“Are you one of them?”
His jaw tics. “Some people think I am.”
“Are you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Because you’re my daughter.”
“But I’m not really, am I?”
He stares at me for several beats, turns on his heels, and walks back to the table where he sits down. That gnawing sensation in my belly is back, but stronger now, with a sense of loss and guilt with it. Yes, he’s my stepfather, and no we are not blood, but he didn’t have to take me in or protect me. Without him, I’d be alone. And I do love Kurt.
I set the protein drink down and walk to the table, claiming the seat across from him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he states, tapping the table. “Do not ever be sorry for asking questions and excepting answers. It’s your right.”
“Who were they?” I demand.
“It’s also my right not to answer. They’re dead. That’s all you need to know.”
An image of Lara and her parents in front of that candle-lit cake flashes in my mind. I want to push him. I need to push him. But I’ve known Kurt most of my life. I know when he will bend. I know when he will not. And so, I say, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he replies, and I stand up, grab my protein drink, and walk toward the stairwell that leads downstairs where my bedroom is at.
Once I’m in my room, I shut the door, walk to the bed, drop to my knees and pull out my memory box. I lift the lid and pick up the photo of me and my mother when I was only a wee child. She was beautiful—blonde with striking eyes, and a smile that lit up the world. And in this photo, she was smiling at me. She loved me. And I loved her. But there is also another photo of her with Kurt, and she is smiling just as broadly at him as she had me, while he’d looked down at her with doe-eyed submission. Yes, submission. He would have done anything for her, even raised me and Kasey.
I try not to think about the obligation that might make me to Kurt.
Instead, I remind myself that he loved her to the moon.
He would never have intentionally put her in danger.
And yet, he did, more than put her in danger.
He got her killed.
Chapter Twelve
Ana
Once we’re downstairs, inside the kitchen, Luke catches me to him and kisses me hard and fast but when he pulls back and stares down at me, his eyes say all that words do not dare with Kurt nearby. He’s here. He understands how much this Kurt situation eats me alive, and God it does. It so does. And, of course, the real message Luke offers is that no matter how this shakes out, I’m not alone. I touch his cheek, my fingers dragging over the rough-edged stubble of his jawline, a “thank you” in that gentle connection. I know he’s here. I know he’s worried. That’s all I need to know.
Forcing myself to leave him where he stands, I step backward and do so, despite an innate fear, no doubt created by this past two years, that any division between us will extend eternally. His hands fall away from my body, his eyes a storm of worry for me. Not physically I know, because Kurt is tied up, and I’m more than capable with my weapon of shooting him, and at this point, I won’t hesitate to do so if necessary.
That doesn’t mean I won’t suffer afterward, but I will survive.
Kurt taught me to do no less.
I turn away from Luke and exit the kitchen.
Moments later, I bring the sitting area just outside the office into view to find Savage sitting in a chair across from Kurt, a gun on his lap. The two men are in a silent stare-off. God, I love Savage and I barely know him, but I know enough. He’s just so damn Savage. The kind of man Kurt would respect. The kind of man Kurt will hesitate to test. Luke was one of those men to Kurt, but then I became Luke’s weakness and I have no doubt Kurt will continue to use that against him.
I stand there and watch them watch each other, my mind drifting back to Lara’s party. I’m sure had I been born her, I would have greeted my father with a hug and tears. But had I been Lara, my father would never have faked his death.
Closing the space between me and them, I motion for Savage to let me sit. He stands, his weapon in his hand, and steps to the rear of the chair, a protective stance to the way he plants his feet to stay a while. I motion at him again. “We need to be alone.”