Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I scratched the idea of sheltering in the closet and returned to the bed to sit and wait. It didn’t matter anyway. If someone came here to kill me, hiding wouldn’t stop them. They would find me.
Tension roiled along my body, every commonplace sound in the house like a bomb going off, shocking my system. The ticking of a clock, the sound of a bird on the roof nearby, the slow drip of Lucius’ faucet in his bathroom. I edged back until I was sitting against the headboard, the fireplace poker next to me, the unyielding metal a strange comfort.
Would I die here instead of in the Acquisition? Maybe this end was better. Maybe this farmer uprising—if that’s what it truly was—was a blessing in disguise. I absentmindedly trailed my fingertips along the scars on my left wrist. I’d wished for death back then. I still toyed with it, flirting with it from across the room with glances and coy smiles. Death watched me as if I were its next dance partner, its next sumptuous feast of flesh. How long would our flirtation last before he dragged me into the swirling mass of dancers, swallowed up by flowing skirts and dark smiles?
The air remained still, the whole house turned into a sepulcher by the two bodies, maybe more, that filled its walls. I focused intently on every noise, every creak of the house. After an hour or so, a sharp crack shattered the stillness. A single gunshot that was soon joined by others. Booming shots mixed with the sporadic cracks of pistols as I huddled under the blanket, my gaze fixed unwaveringly on the door.
The sun slowly faded through the window as I waited. The room became steeped in gloom, hours passing without word from anyone and no more shots. I didn’t dare turn on a light. The adrenaline was long-since drained from my body. I scooted down in the bed, propping my head on pillows so I could keep an eye on the door. Lucius’ scent surrounded me, sandalwood and sophistication sinking into my pores.
My eyes grew heavy. I should have sat up, should have moved around. Instead, I let the darkness lull me. It wasn’t the first time.
The door burst open, and I scrambled from the bed. Sleep was gone and a surge of murder took its place. The poker was in my hand as I rushed forward toward the dark figure advancing into the room. Drawing my arm back, I waited for the gunshots to sound, for my blood to spill. Nothing.
I swung with all my strength but the figure caught my wrist and squeezed hard. The pressure increased until my bones ached and I dropped the metal with a cry. He clapped his hand over my mouth and snaked an arm around my waist, pulling me to him. Fear engulfed me like quicksand, dragging me down until I knew I would suffocate.
I peered up to get a better look at the person who would snuff me out. I breathed in through my nose and got a taste of his scent—woodsy, masculine. My heart drummed in my chest. I recognized him, the hard body against my breasts, the feel of his arms caging me against him.
“Stella.” The deep rumble of his voice made my knees weak but also poured kerosene on the ember of hate that burned in my heart. The flame leapt, catching the rest of me on fire, setting every nerve ablaze.
I renewed my fight, kicking and opening my mouth wide so I could dig my teeth into his palm. The bastard dared touch me after everything he’d put me through—my contract, the Acquisition ball, and my father selling me. He needed to bleed, to suffer. I bit harder. He grunted but didn’t release me. Even as I tasted copper and he constricted me so tightly to him that my vision dimmed, he wouldn’t let go.
“Stop,” Vinemont ordered, impatience dripping from his tone.
Getting nowhere, I relaxed my jaw and he withdrew his hand, but he kept the arm around me, walking me backward so he could close the door behind him.
“Where’s Lucius?”
He was already drawn tighter than a piano wire, but my question made him vibrate with intensity.
“He’s here tending to his foreman.”
“Is Javier hurt?”
“Took a slug in the shoulder. Through and through, but still hurt like a son of a bitch based on his whining.” He pushed me back until my knees hit the bed and I sat.
He took a step back and peered around, slivers of moon peeking through the windows the only light in the room. He strode back to the door and flipped the light switch. I was momentarily blinded but it didn’t matter. He blotted out everything else. Vinemont, standing before me, his dark hair wild and blood running from cuts along his cheek, his neck, his arms. His right pant leg was stained a vivid crimson and still wet.