Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Then the crackle and singe of burning furniture roared into being so loud—so scarily loud.
“Help!”
A cold cackle of laughter was the only help I received. “Burn, baby girl. Burn.”
I was wrenched awake by large hands tearing me from sleep, dumping me into a reality I’d rather not face. A reality that I had no tether to.
“Christ’s sake, woman.” Kill bowed over me, his green eyes diving into mine. “Stop screaming.”
Him.
Green eyes of my lover.
Green eyes of my murderer.
The past clawed at me, dragging me back into smoke and flames and pain.
I screamed. The floodgates of my tears and fears and strain of the past hours faltered, spewing forth everything in a loud wail.
I sobbed.
I cried.
I came utterly apart.
And I did it alone.
I was an oasis of grief as Arthur Killian stood livid beside my bed. Flickers of yesterday came back, fluttering around me like memory snowflakes.
Kidnapped.
The threat of being sold.
Stitching him up.
The relief of finally having a shower and sinking into a soft, warm bed.
“For God’s sake, stop.” Kill shook his head. “Quit it, or I’ll have to fucking gag you.”
I stopped instantly. My tears dried up as if they never existed, and the raggedness of my breathing receded.
He sighed heavily. “Much better.” His beautiful green eyes were bloodshot and tired but his face had a healthy glow and his jaw-length hair was swept back off his face. His black T-shirt hid my handiwork, but he kept his right arm protectively shielded by his body.
I glanced behind him, taking in the room I’d slept in. The white walls, sheer drapes, and nondescript decorating could’ve been any hotel in any city around the world.
He locked me in here.
After a torturous climb up the stairs, he’d left me alone in this room, and turned the key. He’d let me care for him then locked me up like a prisoner.
Scooting higher beneath the blankets, I squinted through the warm glare of the sun cascading through the window. “You should really wear a sling until the muscles aren’t so sore.” I pointed at his stiff arm. “You don’t want to rupture the stitches.”
He backed away from the bed. “You’re not my nurse any longer. Get up. We have business to attend to.”
“Business?”
He nodded. “You might’ve bought yourself some time by making me be… ah yes, that word I hate… grateful, but I have people to deal with, things to organize.” Grabbing the covers, he tried to yank them off me, but I curled into them and didn’t let go.
He scowled.
“Got shit to do, sweetheart, and I’m not leaving you here on your own. I don’t fucking trust you. So you’re coming with me.”
“I saved your life last night, yet you don’t trust me?” I wrapped my arms around my legs, hugging the warmth from the blankets.
What happened to the connection we formed last night? The truce?
He smirked. “It’s the reasons why you saved my life last night that I don’t trust you.” Moving toward the black-lacquered dresser by the door to the bathroom, he jerked open a drawer and yanked out some clothes. Board shorts and another black T-shirt stating AND REVENGE SHALL BE SWEET.
I eyed him. He looked angry and bitter—no trace of the man I’d glimpsed no matter how briefly last night. There was no denying he had a vendetta against someone.
“Put these on. We’ll get some clothes for you this afternoon.”
“You’re dressing me now?”
“You want to walk around naked?”
“No.”
He stormed to the door. “Good, put the fucking clothes on.”
He suddenly changed course, stomping back to the bed. He’d already dressed in black trousers, T-shirt, and big biker boots. Grabbing the end of the covers, he tore them off me, leaving me exposed and chilled.
“Hey!” I cried out as he shoved me onto my back, and yanked up the hem of my T-shirt, exposing my nakedness below. His eyes didn’t latch onto my pussy or breasts but the tattoo decorating my entire left side. His nostrils flared as he followed the colors down to my hip and the perimeter of my leg.
His face darkened, gaze churning with questions. “Do you really not remember anything about this?” He poked my hipbone where a spray of cobalt blue forget-me-nots danced merrily amongst the black shadow of smoke beneath.
“No.”
He poked my ugly, shiny burns. “And this. Tell me you remember something as fucking traumatic as being burned this bad. Who did it? What happened?”
“I don’t know how it happened.”
Burn, baby girl. Burn.
I shivered. Wrestling the hem out of his large grip, I covered myself. Had he spent the night thinking about her? This mysterious girl I seemed to remind him of?
“Are you sure about that?” He stood tall, towering over me. “What if someone tried to kill you all those years ago? Would that be traumatic enough to block it out?” His jaw chewed the words, yet again saying one thing while holding so much back.