Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I grabbed for her, but she stopped just short of hitting herself. She looked at her hand, a hair’s width away from her nose, and a sickening laugh left her. Tears rolled down her face as she bent over, still laughing, still crying.
“Emma.”
She looked up. “I’m miserable, Carter. They’re torturing her because of me.”
“No.”
“Yes. Me!”
“No.” I grabbed her and hauled her close. “They’re torturing her because of me, because I love you, because I won’t let you go. That’s why.” My pulse raced. I loved her, and I was almost crazy because of it. She couldn’t blame herself. “Me, Emma. It’s my fault. Not yours. If you want to punish someone, punish me. I should’ve let you go a year ago—”
Her eyes went wild, and she surged up on her toes, moving against me. “No.”
“—but I couldn’t.” I gentled my tone. I needed to get control of myself. “I couldn’t. I’m sorry. I couldn’t let you go.”
“No, Carter.” A whimper slipped out as she shook her head. “No. You can’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I love you. This was my fault—”
“Stop it!” I shouted.
She kept hurting herself. I saw the pain that flashed in her eyes as she cast blame on her actions, on her being herself.
“She’s your blood family, and you can be curious about her,” I said, trying to be calm. “You can want to get to know her. That’s normal. That’s the right thing, a person should be able to do that. But you can’t, because of me. All of this is because of me. My god, you’re allowed to want to have a family. That’s what she is. That’s what I did. That’s the whole reason we’re in this mess, because I couldn’t be alone. AJ was dead. You were safer away from me than with me. So I let you go, but I went to the mafia. Because of that choice, your sister was taken.”
“Carter,” she whispered.
“Stop, Emma.” She was breaking down, and I couldn’t stop it, any of it. Every day she broke a little bit more—every time I came home without her sister. She wasn’t eating. She wasn’t healing. This was because of me. “This is my fault. Never yours.”
“Carter.”
She wanted to fight. Fine. I’d teach her how to fight. I gestured to the punching bag. “Show me your stance.”
“What?”
“Show me. If that was me, how would you stand against me?”
“I…” Her eyebrows furrowed, and she tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
I moved around the bag to stand beside it and gestured for Emma to square against me. “I’m a Bartel. I’m coming at you. How would you fight me?”
She raised her little hands, already formed into fists.
“No,” I said.
“What?” She lowered her hands.
“Raise them up again.”
She did, and I swept an arm around her, tucking her against my side. I walked in a small circle, carrying her. She couldn’t kick me. Her arms were trapped against my body. Her only weapon was her teeth. She could bite me, but that wouldn’t kill me. After setting her down, I asked, “Do you know what you did wrong?”
“Besides doing what you told me to do?” she retorted. The tears and hysterics had ceased. The fighting spirit had come back to her, putting color in her cheeks again. She blew a short puff of air, cooling herself. Her hands went to her hips, and she struck a defiant pose. Her chin lifted. “Okay. Show me what I did wrong.”
She was challenging me. Good. “You failed my test just by being in front of me. If you’re going hand-to-hand with a guy, especially someone who knows how to fight and is bigger than you, you won’t win. You come sideways. You come from behind. You catch him off guard.”
“How do I do that?”
“Distract him.”
She looked down at her boobs and puffed out her chest. “With these? It’s you. Besides taking my clothes off, I don’t know how to distract you.”
“Not me.” I fought back a grin. “Though your girls look especially good right now.” They strained in her sports bra and sweat-soaked shirt. They perked up even more under my gaze.
She cursed. “Stop it. Teach me how to fight.”
“Know your opponent.” I tapped the side of my head. “Get in here. Figure out what he wants. If it is knowledge, attention, his ego stroked—whatever it is, you give it to him. And you get a weapon. As soon as his guard is dropped, you hit him hard. You put all your weight behind that weapon. You have to make the first contact successful. He needs to be knocked unconscious, or he’s ready, and he’s pissed. If you don’t have a gun, he’ll get you. That’s a guarantee. Don’t set yourself up for failure.”
She sighed. “That’s easier said than done. I don’t know the Bartels—”