Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 126522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Looking at myself breaks my heart, but every day has gotten a little easier. I just hate that these scars are never going to go away. While the memories might fade and become easier to deal with, every time I glance down at my body, I will be hit with a reminder of what he did to me.
Averting my eyes from the mirror, I wrap my towel around my body and start brushing out my hair. It’s been hard to shower over the last few days, but I’ve given it a good try. Every movement seemed to pull at my stitches, so all I’ve been able to do is stand under the hot stream of water, but not today. Today I was able to really wash the dirt out of my hair and scrub the remaining dried blood off my body. I feel like a whole new woman, but that doesn’t mean that the dreams will magically stop.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him. I feel his hand pressing down over my mouth, making it impossible to scream. I see the darkness trapping me inside the trunk of his car, the rough ground as I was thrown down … the lone bathtub in the center of the cellar.
It’ll never stop.
I’ve woken up screaming every night. Marcus sat with me the first night as I just laid and stared at the ceiling. Roman and Levi took shifts the second night, and as the third night crept in, they shoved sleeping pills down my throat. I slept sixteen dreamless hours and I’m not going to lie, I feel a million times better, but what about tomorrow night? What about a week from now? I’ve never quite feared being alone in the dark like I do now.
I don’t know what I would have done if the boys hadn’t found me.
Letting out a sigh, I quickly blow dry my hair and put on just a touch of makeup, lining my eyes and adding a bit of mascara to make them pop. I step out of my bathroom and slowly get dressed, unable to figure out how the hell the guys talked me into this.
Dinner at their father’s mansion.
A bullet through the head sounds more enticing than this, but apparently it’s a monthly business meeting that the boys are required to attend. I would have preferred that they leave me locked up in their big-ass castle, but Marcus quickly pointed out that leaving me here alone is only going to send me into a raging panic attack the moment they step out of the castle.
I hate that he’s always right. All of them are always right, and what’s worse is that they like to point it out. It’s like a constant reminder that I have no idea how to navigate this messed-up world.
My backless gown is gorgeous and I feel like a fucking fraud in it, even more so as I step into the black, red-bottom heels that match. The long gown skims along the ground as the sleeves come right down to my wrists, somehow covering every last scar on my body. Whichever brother picked this out went to a lot of effort to get it right. The dress has a high slit that comes right up to the top of my thigh, but it somehow covers the massive stab wound and manages to keep my horrific injuries concealed.
Glancing at the time, I let out a breath. I really don’t want to do this. I don’t feel strong enough to be taking a trip out, especially somewhere that I’m going to have to constantly be on guard and watch my back. I’m still weak from the blood loss and can barely go a few hours without needing to dose up on painkillers, so tonight is bound to be interesting.
I make my way down the stairs and I’m not surprised to find the three brothers waiting at the bottom, each of them in a jaw-dropping suit that would have any girl falling to her knees. The last time I saw them look so good was my second night here when they insisted on the world’s weirdest dinner party. Things were different then, and I didn’t get the chance to admire the merchandise, but now, I’m as shameless as they come.
Their suits are sculpted to their bodies and fit perfectly, showing off their wide, strong shoulders as their tattoos peek out at the base of their necks. They look terrifyingly delicious, exactly what any girl should expect of a man born into the mafia.
Marcus looks up at me, appreciation in his eyes as his gaze sails down the length of my body, stopping at the high slit at the top of my thigh. “Mmmm,” he murmurs, a rawness to his tone. “We can still make a mafia wife out of you after all.”