Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Fragments of her goodness, of that sunshine personality, seep through the cracks in my mind and do their best to poison everything—if goodness can be a toxin, that is.
I check my watch. It's late, and the house is quiet. Too quiet. I take a sip of whiskey and allow another minute to pass. I keep my gaze trained on the liquor in the glass, if only to give myself something to focus on, something to keep my ass in the armchair and away from Elyse. I’ll lose my fucking mind if I find her in that closet down the hall, so the best thing to do is keep my ass in the chair and do nothing.
After the events at Pound of Flesh and the aftermath, including the new closet development, she continues to keep her distance. I know I should be grateful since it’s for the best, but in the evenings, when I’m at my weakest, she has a habit of entering my mind. I look forward to our sparring matches and seeing the fear and desire pool in her baby-blue eyes. Fuck, it makes my cock hard just thinking about it.
I switch gears and force myself to think of something else. The plan with Sidorov didn't go well, but I know one person who wants this life and the power I hold. I just don't know if I have the stomach to turn it over to her. Not after what she's done.
Memories assault me, and I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing the thoughts into the past where they belong so they don't take over in my drunken state. Bare flesh sliding on bare flesh flashes in my mind nonetheless, and I flinch. No. I can’t go back there. I can’t be reminded of how weak and powerless I was.
She no longer controls me. No longer owns me.
I force measured breaths into my lungs. Some will say I need to see a therapist; others will question how I can stand to be within ten feet of her after all she’s done to me, but none of them will understand the basic desire to simply forget. To want simplicity. I don’t need to heal from my trauma. I don’t even require justice, really. I just want to forget it ever happened. A humorless laugh escapes me. That’s where Elyse got lucky by losing her memories from that night.
The memories twist and contour in my mind, but it's not Tanya lingering at the fringes who makes my stomach curl—it's Elyse. Memories of her slam into me—the way her pouty lips looked wrapped around my cock and how she clenched her thighs together like she wanted to be there on her knees just as much as I wanted her there.
It’s an illusion.
I blink away the memory, then stand and cross the room to the bar. I refill my drink, the liquid settling perilously close to the top.
Why can’t I stop thinking about her? About that night?
It was nothing but a blow job, one of many I’ve had in my life, but somehow it was the best fucking one I’ve ever had. Maybe I need to get laid? Yeah, that’s probably what it is. I’ve forgotten what decent sex is like.
My phone chimes from on top of the rumpled bedding. I'm a little groggy as I cross the room and check the notification that’s popped up on the screen.
Shit. It’s security. The need for sleep is driven away with the spike of adrenaline that’s been injected into my veins. I gently slide my glass onto the bedside table, then snatch the device off the sheets, open it, and check the text. It’s from my head of security, Rambo.
Rambo: We’ve got movement out at the old groundskeeper’s cottage.
I clench the phone tight in my hand. My first thought is Yanov. Is it possible he’s been hiding out there? I didn't have it searched since I know Elyse likes to sneak her little charity projects out there. That and the thought of being notified every single time she’s out there would drive me insane, but now I’m worried I’ve made another mistake. That there’s been a security breach, or worse, that I missed something important.
I type out a quick response and hit send.
Me: On my way.
I tuck my phone into my gray sweatpants and adjust my black T-shirt. Before I leave the room, I throw on a hoodie and slip my feet into a pair of sneakers. It’s easier to go down and check it out myself. I doubt it’s anything serious and definitely not worth sending the entire team out to investigate, but on the off chance that it is something serious…
…it’s better to be safe than sorry.
I pause in the doorway and look back at the bedside table where I keep a handgun loaded and ready for whenever I might need it. I think about grabbing it, but instead, I walk back to the bed and snake my hand under the pillow.