Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I tugged at a loose thread on my pants. She again asked the question without judgment, only curiosity, maybe a little concern.
I’d been thinking about it, trying to think about what happened now. What my life looked like now.
“No,” I replied. “I always knew that wasn’t something I’d do forever. Apart from purchasing an excellent wardrobe, I am somewhat savvy with the stock market and crypto currency.” I grinned. “So I can officially retire from the business. It served its purpose … a little too well,” I joked.
Violet didn’t smile.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. “What happened while he … had you?”
“No,” I answered without hesitation, the room suddenly freezing.
Violet blanched at my tone, maybe my expression. I’d tried to school it. “I can’t even begin to understand what you went through, but I know that keeping it inside isn’t going to help you heal. You can talk about it.”
My nails bit into my palms.
The knife tore into my stomach as vomit and bile stained the side of my mouth. He smiled when I let out a cry.
“No, I can’t,” I shook my head.
“Sweetie—”
“I can’t, Violet,” I bit out, harsher than I’d intended.
Violet’s eyes widened, looking surprised but not hurt. For a second, she looked like she was going to push it further, causing me to strike out like a cornered animal. And I really didn’t want to hurt my best friend. Really, really. But I feared I wouldn’t have a choice if she pushed.
“Okay,” Violet relented quietly. “Okay. But you can talk to me. Whenever you’re ready.”
I nodded, relieved. “I know.”
“Promise?” she asked, raising a brow.
“Promise,” I lied.
I wouldn’t be talking about what happened to me to another living soul.
“Knock knock.”
I looked up from the TV. I was on the fourth season of Real Housewives and was slowly losing touch with reality … just how I liked it.
Kate walked through my front door with a large basket. Declan was nowhere to be found, which didn’t surprise me. His father was absolutely in love with him and barely let him—or Kate, for that matter—out of his sight.
“I brought pastries!” Kate announced, holding up the basket. “And coffee.” She set the basket down on my kitchen counter then went about finding plates. Kate had been here often enough that she knew her way around. She’d helped me move in and shop for furniture.
I gathered myself up from my spot on the sofa, feeling somewhat embarrassed that it was the middle of the day, and I was wearing the same clothes I’d slept in and was watching trash TV.
Kate didn’t act as if I had anything to be embarrassed about. She hummed softly as she moved around the kitchen.
I didn’t know Kate before she was married to Swiss. From what Violet told me, she wasn’t always like this. She used to wear neatly pressed designer clothes, always had perfect hair and acted like a “Stepford robot” when her husband was around.
It was hard to connect the woman Violet told me her mother used to be with the woman who was practically dancing around my kitchen. Kate wore faded jeans, spike-heeled, bright pink shoes and a light pink tank. Her hair was styled in messy curls, and she had ‘biker babe’ makeup on.
Sometimes she dressed up in designer gear, but most of the time she wore this kind of stuff. And she drank, smiled easily, and bickered with her husband who was completely infatuated with her.
In short, Kate was kind of my idol.
She had gone through a terrible eighteen years being married to a man who abused her. Though I couldn’t fathom what that would be like, I figured that it would scoop out the insides of a person, leave them empty.
But Kate was anything but empty. She acted like she’d never had a moment of pain in her life.
I supposed she gave me a little bit of hope.
Maybe I wouldn’t always be this empty.
“I kind of went overboard,” she smiled as she arranged a plethora of baked goods on a large serving tray I didn’t even know I had. One of the women had likely brought it then put it away. I was never in my kitchen, but it had been well utilized by the women of the Sons of Templar MC in the weeks since the attack. I’d barely left the apartment, knowing the media and murder tourists had descended on our small town. Thanks to Kate and the others, I was never without food, booze or company.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said as I perched myself on a barstool. I knew better than to offer to help her with anything. No one had let me lift a finger in my own apartment, even though I was finally gaining some of my strength back. Physically, at least.