Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
His mind seemed to be elsewhere because he took a while to respond. “He’s loyal.”
“Aren’t all of you loyal?”
“But he’s the favorite. A couple years ago, some stuff went down… Lucas was the one who stayed. Took a bullet for your father.”
Wow, they were perfect for each other. “Does my father know Lucas hurts his daughter?” I asked the question even though I already had the answer.
“You know how traditional he is…”
Now I wondered if he’d hurt my mother too. “I gotta get my sister out of there.”
“You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”
“She’s too young to know better.” And Lucas seemed to be close to thirty, based on my guess.
He gave a shrug. “Maybe when she gets older she’ll feel differently.”
“But by then, it’ll be too late.” She’d have a kid. Maybe two. Then she’d be trapped for good.
Victor stared at me, an old look he used to give me. “Can I take you home—”
“I can get there on my own.” For the most part, Bartholomew didn’t seem like the jealous type, especially when I wasn’t his in the first place, but it would still be awkward if he saw my ex-husband drop me off.
I wanted to ask Victor to keep an eye on my sister, but he’d done such a terrible job taking care of me that I knew he wasn’t capable of the task. And it wasn’t his problem either.
“I’m really glad I saw you today.” He said it without looking at me, like he didn’t want to see the hatred in my eyes. “That you’re doing well.”
“Yeah, you too.”
When I returned to the house, Bartholomew was talking on the phone as he sat on the balcony, dressed in the same sweatpants as when I left. His hair was styled now, and his arms had a red flush to them, so it seemed as if he’d worked out and showered while I was gone. When he realized I was there, he stopped everything he was doing. “I’ll call you back, Bleu.” He set the phone down and rose to his full height, six-foot-something of all man, looking at me in the special way of his…the way that made me feel like a woman.
He approached me in the bedroom, his eyes searching my face for distress. “How are you, sweetheart?” For a man who heartlessly pushed drugs across the country, he seemed to care about every thought that crossed my mind. He was already screwing me, so it wasn’t like he was trying to get me into bed with false affection. He and my father were in the same business, but they couldn’t be more different.
“I think I need a drink…”
His lips lifted slightly in a smile, but his eyes remained cold. He walked to his bar, poured two scotches, on the rocks the way he liked, and we sat together in the living room, away from the heat outside.
I slipped off my heels and pulled my knees to my chest as I sat in the corner of the couch. Just the way I’d imagined at the funeral, he sat beside me, his arm over the back of the couch behind me, his knees wide apart and taking up more room than he really needed. His fingers found the hair at the nape of my neck and lightly caressed the strands as I told him about what had happened with Catherine’s husband. Intense eyes examined my face, like his fingers wanted to move to the front of my throat and squeeze. “Did you punch him?”
“No. I burned his cigar into his forearm.”
A subtle smile moved on to his lips, and this time, it was real. I could tell when it was forced and when it was involuntary. “That’ll get the message across.”
“I hope he thinks of me every time he sees it.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think it’ll change anything with my sister.”
His fingers started to move through my hair again. “I can change it for you.”
“As tempting as that is…it’s okay.”
“What did he do to you after you burned him?”
“You know, called me a bitch, stuff like that…” I wasn’t sure why I omitted the truth. I guess because those words hurt more than I wanted to admit. It was easy to wear a poker face around Victor and those other assholes…but not Bartholomew.
Bartholomew studied my face, like he knew something was missing but didn’t ask for more information.
“He tried to punch me, but Victor stopped him.”
“Victor?”
“My ex.”
His expression remained steady, but there was a subtle flash across his eyes. “So you did speak.”
“A bit.”
He gave a slight nod then looked away. “And how was that?”
“He tried to apologize, but I wasn’t interested in listening to it. Told him I was over it, that I have a hot-as-fuck boyfriend who doesn’t have a problem fucking my brains out.”