Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“I know, baby.”
This time, she doesn’t tell me not to call her baby.
There’s scratching and a whimper at the door. Violet grins.
“Let him in!” she shouts to the security guard. Seconds later, a freshly cleaned little Cudgel vaults himself onto the bed, sporting a bright red ribbon. He laps furiously at Violet’s face until she pulls him up to her and rolls him over so she can rub his belly.
“You little rascal,” she says with affection. “You missed mama, huh?”
She gets him busy with a chew toy on the floor. I marvel at her grace, the simple lines of her body like the expert sweep of an artist’s brush. She tucks her hair off her forehead and behind one ear, and when she catches my eye, she gives me a gentle smile.
She sits on the edge of the bed, bends, and kisses my bandaged arm.
“You’ve kissed my owies like ten times today,” I say, but I’m hardly giving her shit for it. I love that she does this.
“And I’ll keep doing it.”
Suddenly, something outside the window catches her eye, and she leaps to her feet. “Cain!”
“What?”
“Who… how… it’s my truck!”
“Motherfucker.” Again, they screwed up the timing. “I gave specific instructions for them to wait to give this to you until I told them. Until after everything had blown over. I didn’t want you to think…” I stop myself before I say too much.
She tips her head to the side. “Didn’t want me to think what?”
“That I… was trying to buy your affection.”
She smiles sadly. “I wouldn’t ever think that.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes meet mine, and for the thousandth time, I’m struck by the brilliant beauty of the violet hue. “Because that’s not the man you are. You don’t demand affection. You don’t coerce love out of someone. You love them, fiercely, just as they are.” She blows out a breath. “Just as you are.”
My throat feels tight. I nod.
“So, I need to hear everything,” she says, returning to the story. I don’t miss how she skirts away from the discussion of love. “Henri’s footage shows that the man that tried to grab me was a Castellano.”
“Yes. And my sources say that he was the very same man who killed your parents.”
My sources being my men who captured and interrogated Armand until he begged us for mercy, but I’d rather spare her those details. She’s likely figured it out anyway.
She sits on the chair, dressed in nothing but my T-shirt, and it puts me in mind of the first day we met. A storm had been coming in, and she’d ripped her dress as she was trying to convince me to work with her. I gave her my own shirt, right off my back, and being the ballsy, fucking amazing woman she is, she slipped it right on like it was a dress.
I wish I could go back… no. No, I can’t. A part of me wishes I could go back and tell her everything, but I still fear, even now, that she’d have run from me if I had.
She pushes herself off the chair and walks over to me. I hold my breath, uncertain of what she’ll do next, when she sits herself on my lap and drapes her arms around my neck. She rests her head on my shoulder.
I hesitate for a second, before my own arms encircle her, holding her close to me. If only I could keep her here, just like this.
“Tell me like this,” she whispers.
“With you on my lap?” My voice is thick with emotion. I clear it.
“Yes, Cain. Just like this.”
No more “Mr. Master.”
I nod. “You killed him, Violet. Team Alpha’s disposed of the body. He won’t kill another soul.”
She’s quiet for long moments.
“Will they… his group. Will they come looking for him? For retribution?”
“I’ve seen to it that they won’t.”
“Do I want to know how?”
“I’ll tell you if you want me to, but no. You don’t need to know.” It involved two point four million dollars, an oddly specific number from the superstitious Castellanos, a convincing argument made by Joe, Claude demonstrating that Violet acted in self-defense, and the second-in-command in the Castellano family admitting that their man had gone rogue.
It might have helped that I made it fucking clear that they don’t want to take me and my team on and that a mutually beneficial relationship would be more fortuitous for both of us. They agreed, and promised we’d never see Armand’s face again.
“Alright, then,” she says in that calm, graceful way of hers I’ve come to love. “Don’t tell me.”
The room’s grown dark, with only a sliver of light before the sun’s rays fully set, but I make no move to put a light on. I feel if I move too fast or breathe too heavily, I’ll break the charm that binds us together. Maybe the Castellanos aren’t the only ones with superstitions.