Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“I don’t know the details, but I know you’ve endured a terrible evil.” He loosens a sharp breath. “I can’t express how fucking sorry I am for that.”
The isolation I once found comforting now leaves me ill-prepared for the invasive nature of this conversation.
I want to return to Frankie and Leo, to the security of what’s familiar. But I stand my ground, unwilling to let his probing dictate my reactions.
Defiance builds within me as our gazes hold, my expression blank, shielding the essence of who I am from his too-perceptive study.
He finally breaks the connection, moving on from whatever judgment he formed about me.
“I helped that woman because no one should feel lost or alone.” He resumes down the corridor, leaving me staring after him.
Fuck me.
What am I supposed to do with that?
I trail behind him in tense silence for the remainder of the short distance.
Just before we reach our room, he turns to me, his gaze earnest. “I’ve made mistakes. Hell knows I’m not perfect. But I’m not him.”
As we step back into the room, I wonder, however cautiously, if there’s more to Montgomery Strakh than the cheating douchebag billionaire in that video.
I push open the door to the hospital room, unsettled by the conversation with Kody. His defiance, the guarded look in his familiar eyes, and the unknowns about his father open a fissure of conflicting emotions inside me.
Amid my anger and guilt lurks an aching sense of responsibility for these two men.
Two feral, overprotective men who spent nine months with my wife in an isolated cabin.
My imagination of their time together is a vicious twisting of sex and perversion. If I don’t keep that shit locked down, my jealousy will destroy any chance I have at winning her back.
As Kody follows me in, Frankie’s gaze instantly touches him, checking on him as she speaks to a woman I don’t recognize.
She doesn’t acknowledge me at all.
Kody limps over to his savage, hot-tempered companion with the mismatched eyes. With preternatural focus, they watch the ongoing conversation between Frankie and the woman.
Frankie.
She’s really here.
A fresh surge of relief overwhelms me, seeing her in the flesh, not a figment of my cruel imagination, but real and safe and alive.
I ache to go to her, hold her, make love to her. But she won’t allow it. Not even a touch of my hand on hers.
Our connection is broken. Lost. I did that when I rejected our baby. And my brother did it when he took her.
With that thought comes the worst kind of horror, the most profound pain, knowing that the woman I love more than life itself was abducted, starved, tormented, and worse—so much worse—by an evil I failed to vanquish.
As I take in her emaciated, bandaged, tortured body, I imagine her cries muffled by Denver’s filthy hand. Her pleas for mercy falling on his dispassionate ears. Her ferocity pitted against his unspeakable depravity. The helplessness of it, the brutal unfairness, as he hurt her over and over, night after night, month after month.
The vividness of my imaginings is a landscape of agony, painted in the stark hues of sexual abuse and terror, that Frankie, my beautiful wife, was forced to traverse. The thought of her suffering is unbearable. It’s a gutting, disfiguring blade in the marrow of my bones that I will never truly fathom nor escape.
Wherever he is now, I’m about to find out. Because the woman speaking to Frankie, with her designer skirt suit and blonde hair twisted neatly atop her head, must be Melanie Stokes.
The lawyer we’ve been waiting for.
If Denver is still breathing, he won’t be for long.
The horror of what Frankie must have endured, the brutal hell she faced—it feeds something monstrous inside me, a ruthless beast I struggle to contain. I’m a pulsing, simmering, ticking time bomb of rage, vying for dominance, tearing at the seams of the composure I fight so hard to maintain.
Just a bit longer.
I’ll have my answers and, hopefully, Denver’s location. Then I’m going hunting.
The woman types on her phone as she speaks with Frankie. Their voices are hushed, but I hear something about a crate, thumb drive, and journal.
I make a mental note to follow up on that.
Frankie falls quiet, and the woman peeks in my direction, her expression filled with an understanding that goes beyond professional courtesy.
I have a good feeling about her.
“You must be Monty.” She extends a slender hand. “I’m Melanie Stokes. I’ll be representing Frankie, Kody, and Leo.”
“Thank you for arriving so quickly.”
“No problem.” She gives Kody the same greeting and adds, “You haven’t missed much. Leo and Frankie signed a retainer. I’ll need your signature as well. And they gave me a brief overview, highlighting your biggest concerns and needs. The scrapbook will help us catch up while the three of you get rest.” She glances at her phone, makes a pleased sound, and turns back to Frankie. “My assistant is retrieving the things we discussed as we speak. The book will be here shortly.” Her tone softens. “You’ve had a day. When you’re ready to dig into the details of your story, I’ll come back.”