Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
When he stares at me as if he’s trying to look into my soul, I turn my head away.
“Now is not the time to talk about us.” He takes a step closer, and I quickly move farther away.
If he touches me, I might weep myself to death.
“Please leave, Nikolai.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “Today was traumatic enough. I have no energy to deal with you.”
Silence follows my words, and when it feels as if his soul is reaching out to mine, I spin around and rush to the safety of my bedroom. I shut the door behind me and turn the lock to make sure he can’t come in.
Please leave.
There’s a lot I can endure and overcome, but the trauma and Nikolai Vetrov are two things I can’t handle.
The whiplash our weird and short relationship gave me will break me now. I can’t fight for him anymore, not when the battle for my sanity hangs in the balance.
Stepping away from the door, I walk to my closet and grab a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. I quickly change into the clothes and feel a little better when my curves are hidden by all the fabric.
Moving to the bed, I climb beneath the covers and pull them over my head while I curl into a small ball.
Refusing to think of Nikolai or the rape, I imagine I’m painting, forcing myself to focus on the brush sweeping over a canvas.
“Palette,” I whisper, listing all the supplies. “Canvas. Easel. Brush.” I keep repeating the words until, finally, sleep takes me from this violent world.
Chapter 21
Nikolai
I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
For the past week, Abigail has been a ghost of her former self.
Even though she pretends nothing happened, I see straight through her smiles and carefree demeanor. It’s all a fucking act, and everyone’s falling for it.
I see the terror in her eyes, the tight pull of her features. I can fucking feel her crumbling.
If she thinks I’m going to give up on her, she’s sorely mistaken. I’m giving her the space she asked for, but as soon as she’s recovered from the ordeal of having the shit beaten out of her, I’m chasing her down.
Make no mistake, Abigail Sartori will be mine.
Abigail’s at the back of the studio, running on the treadmill as if she’s attempting to outrun her demons. My gaze drifts over the bruises that are taking their sweet fucking time to heal.
My eyes lower to the long sleeve shirt that’s out of place. She must be dying of the fucking heat. The cargo pants sit loose on her, and there are no signs of her sexy curves.
“Instructor Nikolai,” Paula says, pulling my attention away from Abigail.
Right, the attendees are waiting to hear what they should do today.
I shake my head and clear my throat. “Pair up and spar,” I order before I walk toward Abigail.
She’s so deep in thought, and when I get close enough, I hear her whisper, “Easel. Canvas. Palette. Brush. Paint. Easel. Canvas. Palette. Brush. Paint.”
“Abigail,” I say to pull her out of her thoughts, making sure to keep my tone gentle. She blinks and seems to come out of the daze before she looks at me. “Go paint. It’s too early for you to be back at training.”
She shakes her head as she increases the speed on the treadmill, then mutters, “I’m fine.”
I take a deep breath, so I don’t yank her off the equipment. “You’re pushing too hard.”
Slamming the stop button, she gives me an angry glare. “No, you’re the one pushing. I’m here to train, Instructor Vetrov. Leave me be.”
She walks around me and heads toward the other attendees.
“Hawkins,” she snaps. “Let’s spar.”
Over my dead body. I stalk closer and order, “Caspian, get back to sparring with Duarte.”
I take another breath so my voice is calm when I say, “I don’t want to see you in this studio until you’re fully healed. Go get some rest.”
She stares at me for a moment, but there’s no sign of the daring spark that used to light up her eyes. Nodding, she turns around and stalks out.
I walk to the door and watch as she heads toward the armory.
God help me. Every ounce of my being wants to help and comfort her, but she’s shut me out.
For the millionth time since Saturday, worry creeps into my mind, and with every passing hour, it claws chunks out of my heart.
Yes, Abigail was brutally beaten, but I find it hard to believe it’s broken her. She’s stronger than that.
Something else happened. I bet my fucking life on it.
Leaving my studio, I walk down the hallway to where the lessons in torture take place and knock on the door.
Igor, the instructor, glances in my direction. “Can I help?”
I gesture to Alek. “I need to speak with Mr. Aslanhov.”
Alek lets out a sigh as he gets up. When he steps into the hallway, I nod toward my uncle's office that’s not currently in use.