Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
He twists a strand of my hair around his finger. “My sister would’ve liked you.”
I twist my body to face him, and his eyes fix on my face. “Do you miss her a lot?” I whisper. I’ve watched Jude beat the shit out of people without a second thought, even his own brother, and my mind can’t comprehend the possibility that he might care, like really care for somebody.
He remains silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. “I almost can’t remember them. I’m not sure what I’ve made up and what’s real, you know?”
I nod. “Yeah.” I feel the same way about my mum. Sometimes I just can’t picture her face anymore.
“I just wanna go to sleep.” He closes his eyes and tightens his hold around my waist. “Don’t leave me,” he says quietly, and I’m not sure if he meant that as an order or a plea.
“I won’t,” I say to the ceiling. What the hell am I doing?
I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here. Things have become so twisted that I don’t know which way is up anymore. I would say it feels like my life is on pause, but of course it’s not, because when I press play there’s nothing left to play. My former life is gone, and the more I come to terms with that, the more accepting I become of this strange life that I’m living.
Then there’s Jude. I should hate him, but I don’t. I feel safe around him. He took everything from me, and it hurts, but he did it to protect me. In this fucked-up world where enemies lie in wait around every corner, sacrifices must be made. Euan and Joe set me up, tried to use me as a pawn. I guess you could say that I have horrible taste in men, or perhaps fate just took a giant shit on me.
Either way, it is what it is, and for now, I’m stuck in this strange limbo.
I pull the photo from the broken, glassless frame, staring at the image. It breaks my heart to think of what happened to them. Nobody should endure that. Jude shouldn’t have had to endure that. To lose your mother and sister is awful, but to lose them because of your father and the enemies he has made...that would destroy a person. Jude is strong in so many ways, but he’s also broken.
I slide the picture into the new frame, closing the back. The door clicks open just as I’m putting the picture back on the bedside table.
I look up and lock eyes with Jude. He has this wild intensity about him that always sends my heart into a sprint.
He stops, a frown masking his features as he looks from the picture frame to me. “What are you doing?”
I shrug one shoulder. “I got you a new frame,” I say quietly.
“Why?”
“Uh, because you went all Hulk and smashed the last one.” I cock an eyebrow at him. “And I know it’s important to you, so I got a new one. Well, actually, I think technically you got a new one.”
He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Well, I break a lot of shit, though, so don’t go trying to replace anything else I break.” He sighs. “Just making yourself at home now, huh?” His eyes slowly lift to mine.
I laugh. “Nothing else to do around here, besides fuck the boss or play with his brother.”
He laughs. “You’re fucked up in the head, you know that, right?”
“Just know that I wasn’t before I came here” I joke.
“Yeah...” His expression falls blank and he crosses the room to pick up the frame. He stares at it, brushing his fingertip over the picture. “That bothers me,” he says under his breath.
“Why?” I whisper. My mental state shouldn’t bother him. He’s a criminal, a killer. No man who can look someone in the eye and pull a trigger should be capable of feeling remorse or empathy, and yet, here he is. I’ve felt his remorse in every subtle glance, every soft touch. This situation is so far beyond fucked up, it’s in its own league. All I know at this point is that things are not black and white. Good or bad, Jude is not the monster I thought he was. Or maybe I just tell myself that to justify my own actions. Let’s be honest, they’re hardly the actions of a sane girl. Hell, I’m half-starting to wonder myself whether I actually have Stockholm Syndrome. Jesus.
“I don’t know.” His eyes are still fixed on that picture. “Just does.” He sighs as he sets the picture on the dresser. “Maybe because of them…” He turns and walks toward me. He stops in front of me, his eyes narrowing as he sweeps a finger over the scar on my throat. “Maybe because you deserve better.” He leans in, his gaze dropping to my lips just before he gently kisses me. “But I don’t want you to realize it.”