Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“I don’t care about how things work in our world. I only care about Ciara’s happiness.” I blindly take hold of my sister’s wrist and mutter, “Excuse us.”
Dragging her to the other side of the lawn, I let out a disgruntled huff before we come to a standstill near lush green shrubs that line the perimeter wall of the property.
Placing her hand on my bicep, Ciara gives me a comforting squeeze as she says, “Don’t let her get to you.”
“Easier said than done,” I grumble while shooting a glare in Mrs. Beamish's direction. She’s already talking to another group of women, and when some of them glance in our direction, it’s clear she’s gossiping about us.
I don’t care what anyone thinks. I won’t allow Ciara to suffer the same as I did at the hands of my so-called husband.
When I was forced to marry Braden Mallon, my life took a drastic turn for the worse. I agreed to marry Braden so Ciara would never have to enter an arranged marriage.
Lucky for me, Braden was assassinated a year ago. Dad allowed me to change my last name back to Devlin, and since then, I’ve done my best to forget the two years I had to endure as that monster’s wife.
I wish I knew who killed him so I could send the person a thank you card.
“Stop thinking about that bastard,” Ciara says under her breath.
My gray eyes flick to her blue ones, and she gives me a pointed look. “You have that weird expression on your face again.”
I force a smile to my lips before glancing at the other guests.
I never told anyone about what happened during the two years I was married. Sometimes, I think Dad knew what Braden was doing to me, and he had the monster killed. I can’t bring myself to ask him, and he never broaches the subject. It’s as if we’ve silently agreed to never talk about it.
Even though it’s been a year, I still have nightmares. My panic attacks are silent, locking me in a daze where the memories torture me until I’m finally able to break free from them.
But it’s getting better, and I’m determined to forget the monster ever existed.
“Cupcake?” Ciara asks, her gaze scouring the dessert table.
“They’re pink,” I whisper.
Braden made me wear pink every day. He loved the color on me.
“I can wipe the icing off for you,” my sister offers.
Giving her a grateful smile, I shake my head. “No thanks.”
As the server walks toward us with the two glasses of wine Ciara ordered, an aggressive shout thunders over the backyard. “Everybody get down!”
My eyes fly toward a group of men pouring from the sliding doors and rushing around the sides of the house. One of the men drags a guard’s bloody body onto the patio, where he drops it.
Icy shock vibrates through me as it registers that we’re being attacked.
“Jesus,” I breathe, and not hesitating, I shove Ciara into the shrubs next to us.
“Grace,” she shrieks before she disappears into the greenery. I hear her hit the ground with a dull thud, the leaves rustling.
“Stay down,” I hiss, my eyes locked on the armed men moving between the groups of terrified women who quickly lower themselves to the ground.
Before I can think to join my sister in the shrubs, one of the assailants points a machine gun at me.
Dear God.
My muscles freeze, and I can’t make myself move while my eyes lock with his hostile ones.
Dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he walks toward me. Tilting his head, he growls, “Are you too good to lie down on the grass?”
No.
Rapid breaths burst over my lips.
I can’t move.
A weird sensation of prickles spreads over my skin while my vision narrows until all I see is the threat in front of me.
“What do you want?” I hear Mrs. McCool demand, and a second later, the sound of a gunshot makes my entire body jerk.
Some of the women scream, and others sob, but I can’t make a single sound.
“I want everyone to shut up and stay down,” a man orders.
My heart instantly pounds violently against my ribs, and breathing becomes near impossible.
“That’s one of Devlin’s daughters. Bring her,” the one who seems to be in charge demands loudly.
The assailant in front of me steps forward and grabs me by the arm. As I’m dragged toward the rest of the men, I’m too stunned to react.
“Where’s your sister?” the leader barks at me.
My lips part slightly, feeling dry as hell.
The one in charge steps closer and points the barrel of his gun right at my forehead. My eyes flick to the side, and seeing Mrs. McCool’s blood seeping into the manicured lawn, my body chills as the bitter reality of what’s happening fully sinks in.
I hear Kathleen crying, and someone whimpers.