Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“I think it would be a good idea to keep it that way.”
She wasn’t certain what he meant by that. He held a fascination for her no other man had ever managed to do. It was disconcerting and a little frightening. As a rule, she wasn’t the least intimidated by anyone. She could not care less what they thought of her.
“Full disclosure, I have met your boss, Alan Billows, on more than one occasion. However, I don’t know your brother-in-law.”
“Quentin is dead,” she said. Azelie pressed a tight fist against her stomach, where that knot of anger was, holding it in. Keeping it there. Knowing it was bright and hot and fresh as the day the murders had occurred.
“Zelie,” Andrii murmured, his tone that stroke of velvet. “I’m so sorry.”
“He murdered my sister, my nephew and my niece and then killed himself. My sister and I tried to shield the children, but he shot me three times.” She pressed her hand to her chest. She could still feel the pain and horror of those last moments with her family.
She didn’t know why she’d told him. But then she didn’t know why she’d admitted to fixing Alan’s books for him so he wouldn’t go to prison. She’d never told anyone, and she knew Alan would beat her within an inch of her life if he found out. The fact that Andrii had met him and had mutual friends with him didn’t bode well for her, yet she just kept blurting out intensely private and very personal details of her life to him. She never did that. Not even to the merry widows, and she liked them. She couldn’t say she was great friends with them because she was reserved around everyone…yet not so much around Mr. Gorgeous and Powerful.
Andrii was silent, his eyes going slate, then completely silver. He cupped the side of her face with one palm, his thumb sliding very gently along her jaw. “What a terrible tragedy, Zelie. Have you talked about this with anyone?”
She gave a short shake of her head because she hadn’t. She couldn’t lift her lashes to look at him. They were wet. She didn’t allow herself to cry over her family. The rage was there, and it kept her going. Kept her alert to every pitfall.
“Talk to me. I’m a good listener.”
His voice was so dangerous. Low and imperious. Gentle and almost tender. Hell. What did it matter if he knew the entire story? It wasn’t as if it were a secret.
“My sister, Janine, was ten years older than me. She married Quentin, and they seemed happy enough in the beginning, at least I thought they were. I lived with them after our mother died. I don’t remember my father. My mother drank a lot. And she was pretty violent when she drank. She seemed to forget she had children, or she just didn’t care. In any case, Janine mostly took care of me until she moved out.”
Azelie pushed the to-go mug away from her and stared steadily out the window. “Apparently, Quentin liked to play at the club, and he played without Janine. She worked; he didn’t. He ran around on her a lot. Suffice it to say, she was sick of it.”
Bile rose unexpectedly. She hadn’t expected to be so affected by relating that terrible tragedy in her past when her life had changed forever—even though the memory was always so raw and ugly when she allowed herself to think about it.
“The night before it happened, I was studying in my room. I had a huge final the next day in one of my classes. I also had to put a couple of extra hours in on the books at work. Alan said he’d gone over them and added in income from one of the vendors he’d forgotten, but he’d done it incorrectly and messed everything up. In any case, I knew I had to get up around four in the morning. I had already set my alarm and was in my pajamas but was up studying. Janine came into my room and I could tell she was really upset.”
A huge ball of acid threatened to choke her. For a terrible moment she couldn’t breathe. Andrii transferred one hand to the nape of her neck, his fingers strong as they massaged her there.
“Take a deep breath. You don’t have to tell me anything else if you can’t, Zelie.” He indicated the bottle of water on the table. “You need to drink that. A slow sip. You’re here with me. Safe. You’re not anywhere near that man or what he did to you or the ones you love.”
Azelie was grateful he didn’t use the past tense when he referred to her loving her deceased family. She did still love them. She would always love them. She took the bottle of water he pushed into her hand and drank from it. The cool water did help ease the blockage in her throat. The fingers massaging her neck never stopped moving.