Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
The problem with a motherly expression? It doesn’t exactly work on me being I grew up without one. So I only shrug, having zero intentions of telling him. “If that’s the case, then Enzo probably already knows.”
“Probably, but you should still tell him.”
“Because he’s so forthcoming with me.”
She follows me out of the room, turning on the firepit and opening the giant wall of windows, revealing the stars in the distance. “I’m not sure you realize the power you hold here, Miss Revenaw. If you want to know something, you need only ask.”
I grin, tipping my head. “This is me asking.”
“Mmhmm. You know what I’m saying to you. Don’t be cute.”
A genuine smile reaches my lips and I step out onto the patio as she does, watching as she fluffs the cushions and adjusts the chairs that were perfectly fine to begin with. “Would you like a glass of wine on the patio to end your evening?” she asks.
“That sounds nice, thank you.” My gaze follows hers as she moves back inside the room, snagging on a corner door I never noticed before. It sits alone at the farthest edge of the room, almost tucked away in a small conclave you have to be looking at from this general angle in order to spot. “Where does that door lead?”
A moment passes and she doesn’t respond, so I spin to ask again, assuming she didn’t hear me, only to find her standing still, eyes locked on mine.
A haze sweeps over me, but the longer we stare at one another, the clearer it becomes. She heard me.
She just doesn’t want to answer.
“That door,” I press, this time more firmly. “Where does it lead?”
Her expression is as blank as the day I met her, chin held high.
“A room,” is all she says.
“What room?”
“Miss Revenaw—”
“What. Room?”
She hesitates a moment, a flicker of something in her eyes that looks a lot like pity, the reason for it clear with her next three words. “Not what room…”
Whose room.
The thrill of the afternoon is defeated by a thousand thorns, prickling across my body and thickening my skin through the metaphorical scars they’re sure to leave behind.
The room I was tossed in when I first arrived is two flights of stairs below this one, down a fifty-foot hall, and around a corner that leads you to an entirely different wing of this mansion.
I’ve been sleeping a mile away from my husband, while his ex-wife sleeps next door.
I don’t realize I’ve moved until Grandma speaks.
“What are you doing?” she asks as casual as ever, tailing my every move when I dart toward the opposite wall. Her eyes go wide when I take a chance, slamming my fist into a shelf similar to the one in my room—my old room—and what do you know, a gun pops out.
Thanks for the tip, dear husband.
“A Smith & Wesson SD9. My favorite.” I flick my eyes from the weapon to her. “No safety, just need a firm trigger finger.”
“Miss Revenaw…” she warns, backing up a step when I lift it into my hands. I don’t miss the two slides she shifts to the right, as if trying to block off the doorway.
It only pisses me off more.
So she runs my bathwater and pours my champagne. What the fuck does it matter if the girl she’s willing to take a bullet for is the one that I replaced?
Maybe she wishes I didn’t.
What if she wants Katana to retake her position at Enzo’s side?
I lift the gun, aiming it at her head and tilt mine. “You know why my family forgives me every time I fuck up, Grandma?” Her eyes narrow and I cock the gun, flipping my wrist toward the ground, so my ring is pointed to the ceiling, my finger hovering just over the trigger. “Because they know I’m batshit. You haven’t seen that. Enzo hasn’t seen that, but soon, if this shit keeps up, you will. Now…move.”
She fists her hands at her sides. “I cannot allow you to kill her.”
“Assuming you could stop me would be your first mistake.” I walk closer, pressing the gun to the underside of her jaw, and she lifts a brow. “And who said it was her who’s dying today?” Grandma’s confusion is quick. Good. Welcome to the club. “I need answers, Grandma, and I’m ready to get them.”
“You don’t want to shoot anyone here.”
“But I will.”
Grandma’s attention snaps over my shoulder, her eyes blowing wide as her arms swiftly loop around my back, attempting to spin us around as she shouts, “No,” just as I hear another voice rattle, “Kill her and I kill you.”
I don’t even tense, fear oozing from the newcomer’s tone so plainly, it’s disgusting, not to mention embarrassing. Grandma is still trying to spin me, which, aww! I knew she liked me, but not the time. I wrench from her grip and flick my eyes toward the ceiling at the sound of a safety flicking off.