Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 94024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Nothing happened.
I hated that I had gotten my hopes up.
I clutched the cell to my chest and fell asleep, my dreams filled with visions of Breaker’s taunting smile as he twirled my hair between his fingers.
Chapter Twenty
I should have said something, but the deeper I fell, the more I resolved, I would have her before my descent into hell. —Valerian Petrov
Valerian
I’d slept with her.
My body was sated.
My heart and soul were disappointed; in me, in my tactics, in my seduction. Who the hell had I become?
He’d said it would be hard.
But the deeper in I got, the worse I became until it was the parts of me I hated most that seemed to be ruling all logic.
Two more nights.
The funeral was tomorrow.
I would be there with her.
I would hold her hand.
If she let me.
“Fuck.” I kicked the barstool over and grabbed the decanter of whiskey and the two glasses.
I’d spent the entire day both dreading and looking forward to tonight in a way that had me distracted at the office to the point of everyone asking who pissed me off and who died.
Apparently, owning several shipping companies and being the boss to over a thousand employees all of a sudden wasn’t what was getting to me—it was a girl, one simple woman, one complicated woman. One woman who I had given up everything for.
One who would not keep me once she saw me.
I grabbed the bar stool, bent it over my knees, and cracked the wood into kindling. You’d think I’d feel better.
I didn’t.
“Sir?” Sancto hurried around the corner. “Everything all right?”
“Great,” I huffed, tossing the wood pieces to the floor. “Sorry about the broken barstool.”
“Er, it put up a good fight,” he teased, then grabbed what was now firewood and started piling it up on the table. “So, how is our princess this evening?”
Beautiful.
Mine.
His.
Confused.
Sad.
“She’s… it’s complicated,” I finally said.
“Well, then uncomplicate it.” He made it seem so easy when it was anything but that.
“Good idea,” I said mockingly. “I’ll just head over to Chicago real quick, admit everything, get shot in the head, and be right back.”
He stared me down with a smirk. “Don’t be dramatic, you have a few on your side. You’d be fine.”
“A few against Chase Abandonato? Do you even know who you’re talking about? His rage is legendary.”
“He’s just a man.” Sancto gave me a serious look. “And so are you.”
“Yeah.” Just a man who would do anything for his daughter. Just a man who you didn’t double-cross. Just a man who would rip me apart with his bare hands.
The clock struck ten.
Night three was ahead of us.
I took the stairs two at a time until I finally reached the top and the master bedroom. I had my mask in place just in case.
After knocking twice, I let myself in and nearly dropped the crystal glasses.
She was naked.
One hundred percent naked.
In the middle of the bed.
“Am I hallucinating?” I gasped.
She turned her blindfolded head toward me. “Do I have clothes on?”
“Hell no.”
“Then you’re not hallucinating. Congratulations, I’m naked.”
“Thank God.” I rushed over to her, hands shaking, firewood forgotten.
And Chase Abandonato a distant memory.
She sat up and looked in my general direction. “One question before you touch me.”
Shit.
Damn it!
Shit.
“What?” My body trembled.
I burned for her in a way that was otherworldly.
“Did you have anything to do with his death? Answer me even if I hate the answer, and then you can have this.”
Manipulation. I should have known. I was the king of it, wasn’t I?
I said nothing and then, “Even if you hate the answer, Violet? Even then?” I shook my head. It was time, wasn’t it? Maybe that’s why I’d been anxious all day. I’d known I was on borrowed time. I’d known the minute she gave herself to me.
It wasn’t free.
I had thought—hoped I could buy the days from her.
I’d just wanted… more than what I had been given.
But I would always want more, wouldn’t I?
Two more nights would never be enough.
I pulled the mask from my face and tossed it on the floor. It mocked me from where it lay, staring with vacant eyes.
It was over.
“Yes.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Because I’m the one who killed him.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Drown me, take me, torture me, steal me, use me, words etched on my soul, would that she could make me whole. —Valerian Petrov
Violet
I had the blindfold on.
I was naked.
But I was in control.
That was what I kept telling myself as my body buzzed with the awareness that he saw everything, that he was drinking his fill, that he wanted.
I had no idea where I got the nerve to even do this, but I was tired of his games, tired of the lies, and tired of not sleeping, wondering what could be so horrible that I would hate him for the rest of my life.
And my answer was always the same.