Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“Don’t forget your head.”
Kirill pushes down on my head until it’s fully submerged, then holds on tight.
I don’t wiggle until the screams of my lungs demanding air releases the last snippets of oxygen in them. Then I thrash and kick violently.
The pain is intense. It burns through me like a wildfire and reinvigorates my wish to live.
I didn’t come this far to give up now.
Just as black blobs form in front of my eyes, Kirill frees me from his hold. I burst through the water gasping, crying, and on the verge of hysteria. I can’t take in enough oxygen even while being surrounded by it. My panic won’t allow it.
Kirill appears amused by my coughing splatters, but no humor is heard in my tone when he snarls out, “Give orders to any of my men in front of me again, and we will come back here and finish what I started.” His evil eyes bounce between mine when he adds, “You have no power here. None whatsoever. Remember that.”
He tosses a towel into the bath that’s now half empty because of my violent thrashes before he exits the bathroom.
I shudder when I step out of the tub. I’m not solely scared. The bath water wasn’t close to a pleasant temperature. It was freezing cold—as bitterly frigid as Kirill’s heart.
Today proves I won’t survive in his presence much longer. His anger is growing each day, but this is the first time he’s acted on his frustrations.
When I exit what I assume is Kirill’s bedroom, my soaked nightie leaves puddles in my wake. If I thought I had a chance, I would sprint for the door Kirill and several of his men are zooming through. Since I know my every move is tracked by over twelve men with orders of shoot to kill, I trudge to my room, then replace the frigidly cold water clinging to my skin with hot, scolding water.
With my mind blank with shock, I use the facilities, dress, then climb into bed without touching the tray of food laid out for me.
I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically, so within seconds, I fall fast asleep.
It is dark when I’m woken by the squeak of the mattress springs.
When I scamper back, frightened, the voice I’ve been searching for the past month finally floods my ears. “Shh, маленький ягненок. It’s me.”
Too angry to think rationally, I bang my fists on Ghost’s chest before giving in to the tears that have been threatening to stream down my face for the past eight-plus hours.
He takes my beating until the sob I can’t hold back overtakes my thumps. He curls his hands over my fists before using his hold to pull me into his chest.
“He tried to kill me. He…” Hiccup. “He wants me dead.”
“No.” Ghost rubs my back, soothing my shakes with a roughness I’ve become accustomed to before he presses his lips to my ears. “He wants you scared. That’s how he likes them. You’re too strong for him, so he’ll try and break you.”
“He did break me.”
“Speak shit like that again, маленький ягненок, and I’ll do more than hold your head under water for thirty seconds.” I can’t see him, but I imagine his jaw working side to side when a grinding crunch sounds through my ears. It is like he’s fighting for his mouth to produce his next lot of words. “You are too strong for a weak, pathetic man like him to break, so remember that the next time he’s playing tricks on you to have you thinking otherwise.”
His reply suits him to a T.
He is a brute who can still be kind.
Ghost must have eaten his carrots when he was a child because the accuracy of his touch when he pulls the strands of hair stuck to my cheeks behind my ear without a wayward poke makes it appear as if he can see in the dark. “We’re close, and it’s making him panic, but instead of taking it out on me, he’s focusing his anger on you.” His deep exhale hits my cheeks before he mumbles, “It is a bad trait he learned from my father, but he won’t hurt you any more than it takes to scare you.”
Although curious about the first half of his last sentence, something he said earlier has my sole focus. “Close to what?”
Tears prickle my eyes when he replies, “Getting you home.”
“What?” That’s the best reply I can come up with. I’m too shocked to say more.
I would give anything to see his face when he replies, “You lied to me.” He doesn’t sound angry, but his tone rarely changes. Even when he is being playful, his voice remains stern. “You said you were made for this life.” As I recall me throwing my life on the line for Hailey before my ‘wedding,’ he repeats, “You lied to me, didn’t you?”