Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I shake my head back and forth. Whatever the truth may be, it won’t change the fact he raised me and took care of me. That he adopted me after the massacre.
From beside me in the bed, Tobias moves. My tossing and turning probably woke him.
“Are you okay over there?” he asks me. I turn to face him. He looks beautiful in the early morning light. His eyes seem bottomless, full of so many feelings and emotions. The man next to me in bed is not the man he is anywhere else. With everyone else, he’s closed off, but with me, he’s different. It’s like I have my own private version of him.
He is the boy before the crime. He is the boy I fell in love with when he soothed me.
“I’m not,” I admit.
“Talk to me, Skye.”
“Why bother? You already know what’s bothering me.” I sound like a petulant child, but I don’t want to do this.
“I wish I could tell you that you didn’t have to do this, but—”
I let out a sigh. “I know. Fine. I’ll drive up there today.” This time I’m fully huffing. I’m certainly not acting like the lawyer Tobias originally hired.
When it comes to my father, I’m still the scared little girl who had no one.
“No. I’ll drive you up there.”
“Absolutely not.”
“There is no way I’m letting you go by yourself.”
“You really aren’t going to have much choice.”
Tobias takes my hand and turns over my palm until my tattoo faces us. “See this?” I nod.
“This shows you are mine. I fucking own you, Skye Matthews. I have owned your soul from the very first moment we met. And you know what? You have owned mine as well. Where you go, I go.”
My mouth opens and shuts. I have no idea how to respond.
My heart pounds in my chest. He’s not wrong. Every word he says is the truth, and in his tone, I can hear his conviction.
“We are going. And we are going today.”
His hair is disheveled. His eyes narrowed. He looks like a man possessed.
“I don’t know if he will talk if you’re around.”
“He’ll talk,” he deadpans.
“Tobias . . .” I draw out his name in a warning.
“What?” He’s acting clueless, but he knows exactly what I’m saying. But I clarify anyway.
“There is no threatening my father. I don’t care what role he played in everything.”
“No promises.” He goes to move away from me, and my hand shoots up to stop him.
“Tobias!”
He lifts his arms out in surrender. “Fine. Fuck, Skye. I don’t know how you do it . . .”
“Do what?”
“Undo me.” His arms envelop me, pulling me close until his nose is buried in the crook of my neck. “You make me do things I would never do. You make me think of a world where maybe I can be something different, something more.”
“You can.”
“When you say that, I believe it.” He holds me close, placing soft kisses on my neck, but then he pulls away.
I groan at the movement.
“As much as I want to do that, and I do, we have to go. If your father is involved—”
I reach my hand out and grab his. “You can’t hurt him.”
“Skye.”
“No, Tobias. You cannot hurt him. You can come, but I will never forgive you if you hurt him.”
Tobias looks at me, but he doesn’t speak. His jaw is set, lips a thin line. But I can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t have to say anything; I know him. I know the way he looks at me, and I know the promises behind them. No matter what we hear today, he will never hurt him.
Not because he doesn’t deserve it, but because I asked.
Tobias Kosta loves me.
My hands shake as I reach for the front doorknob and insert my key in the lock. I take a deep breath and push through, trying my best to ignore the way my stomach churns with nerves. When I step inside, I go in search of my father.
It feels as if my heart might beat out of my chest, but there is one saving grace. Tobias is waiting in the car.
I asked for that, and he agreed.
So now, I’m making my way through the foyer, each step slower than the next. There is no one in the kitchen, and as I make my way down the hallway, I’m shocked to see my father sitting on the couch.
His face tilts up, and it looks like he’s been crying, his nose red and his eyes watery.
“Hi,” he says quietly.
“Hi,” I reply, trying to keep my voice cool and calm. “I need to talk to you.”
He shifts awkwardly but nods for me to take a seat.
“No. I’ll stand.” But instead of standing, I pace. My feet cross the distance of the room, only to walk back. I don’t even know how to start this conversation. Pain radiates through me like I’m being stabbed in the chest.