Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
I place my hands on his face. “I’m as OK as ever, I guess.” I can feel him smile.
His hands slide down, grab my ass, and pull me even closer. Wrapping around me like he wants to crawl inside my heart.
I don’t know what this is about, so I just stay still.
But then I can hear him. The beat of him. His heart, right up against my cheek. This is what makes me close my eyes. This beat, like the drums on the ship.
And finally, I fall asleep dreaming about what happens on the new moon.
When I wake up the sun is just barely thinking about rising, but there’s enough light to see him now. We’re sprawled out on the bed, Eason flat on his back, me practically on top of him. My head on his chest, one leg thrown over his. He’s got one arm still around me, and the other is flopped out at his side.
I’m face to face with one of the x-eyed tattoos going down his ribs. This one is sideways, like it’s laughing, the crisscrossed teeth jagged and menacing.
I reach up and trace the smile. And then I think about how he got these. What kind of man was that X-Eyes guy?
X-Eyes. Sounds like ‘excise.’ Which means to cut out. That’s what the x’s mean too. No eyes. Excised.
It’s kinda gross.
Dead Eyes isn’t much better. But Eason doesn’t have dead eyes. I’ve looked at them enough to know he never had dead eyes. Maybe they just wished he had dead eyes.
Maybe they just wished he was dead.
I let my fingertips slip down to the waistband of his sweat shorts. One finger makes its way underneath the fabric and then, before I can even blink, Eason is gripping my wrist so hard, I scream out.
“Oh, fuck.” He lets go of me, sits up, blinking down at me, trying to understand what just happened. He lets out a breath. Relaxes. “Sorry. Did I scare you? Was I dreaming? What happened?”
No. You weren’t dreaming. I was going to touch you and you tried to break my wrist.
Of course, I don’t say that. I lie and redirect. “What was that? I think I heard a noise.”
He’s out of bed, at the door, baseball bat in high-ready position, and then out of the bedroom before I can even blink.
What the hell was that?
You know what that was, Irina. It was an instinct.
He comes back in the room and props the bat up near the door. “What kind of noise was it?”
“Um. A… banging? Probably someone in the outside hallway?”
“Yeah.” He relaxes. “Fuck.” Runs his fingers through his hair. “What time is it?” Blows out a breath.
And now I’m wondering—should have been wondering all along—just how many people have tried to touch him like that for it to be an instinct.
“Should we get up?”
I sigh. And how ironic is it that I’m the one who wants to stay in bed and he’s the one who wants to get up?
He must just guess that I’m not getting up because he comes back to bed, getting in on my side—which, now that I think about it, was probably his side before I got here. He pushes me over. Turns me over. Then grabs me and tugs my back up against his chest, wrapping his arms around me like I’m a pillow.
I have to admit, it’s kinda nice.
Then his mouth is right there on my ear. “Irina.”
“What?”
“Do you wanna live with me?”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “I already live with you.”
“It’s not real until you sell that stupid closet. Or rent it out, at the very least.”
I turn to face him, his arms loosening so I can do this.
He smiles at me. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say back. “You want me to sell my condo?”
“It’s a Plan B, right? If you keep the condo empty then you can just walk out whenever you want and go home.”
I could do that even if I didn’t own a condo. But I don’t point it out. “Why are you suddenly worried about me walking out?” But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know why. “It’s because Maart’s coming, isn’t it?”
“What if he arrives professing his undying love for you?”
I practically snort. “I don’t even have enough imagination to dream that scenario up. Trust me.” I scoff. “It’s not gonna happen. He’s gonna be nice at first, and then he’s gonna yell at me.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Let’s make a bet.”
“He’s gonna drop to his knees at your feet and kiss your cute little toes.”
“That’s never gonna happen.”
“He’s gonna… kidnap you and take you home.”
“What home? I have no home in Rio. I’m not going back to Cort and Anya’s village in the jungle. That’s nothing but a temporary waystation. A fuckin’ foster home for orphan death fighters who are too young to move on. And trust me on this—Maart is not gonna let me live at the penthouse because then I would train with them, and he’s dead set on me never training again. Home was Udulf’s fight camp or the Rock. That’s the only home I ever had before I came to Miami. And I’m not going back to either of those places. It’s all over. The whole thing is over.”