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)
He follows me, and only when I shut the door behind us do I ask, “You found Abigail, right?”
He lifts an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. “Yes.”
“What did you see?”
Alek stares at me, then shakes his head. “It’s not my place to tell you anything related to Abbie.”
Christ.
My eyes darken on him. “You not telling me will make me assume the worst.”
He shrugs again. “I can’t tell you what and what not to think.”
I let out a harsh breath because I know he won’t talk. If he swore to Abigail to keep quiet, he will take whatever happened to her to his deathbed.
Silence speaks louder than words, though. Abigail wasn’t just beaten.
“You may go,” I growl, not happy that I’m still in the dark concerning the woman I love.
Alek opens the door, then pauses to say, “If you care about Abbie the way I think you do, you’ll be patient with her.”
Patience is not a virtue I possess.
Alek returns to his training, leaving me alone in the office with my worries.
The word ‘rape’ shudders through my mind, but I shut it down, unable to associate such a violent act with Abigail.
No, she’s just traumatized because she was almost killed twice in a matter of a week.
That’s bullshit, and you know it.
“Christ, I hope I’m wrong about what I think happened to her,” I mutter as I walk out of the office.
I’m just about to pass the armory when I decide to check on Abigail.
It’s impossible to stay away from her.
I find her in the shooting range, busy emptying a clip on a target.
I move closer and lean my shoulder against the wall that runs along the back of the stalls.
When she stops to load a new clip into the gun, her head jerks as if she’s trying to shake something off. She clenches her jaw and her hands still as she squeezes her eyes shut.
I watch as my woman fights against whatever demon she’s facing, and unable to stand by while she struggles, I walk to her and pull her into my arms.
She freezes, and I feel her body tense.
“It’s me,” I say so she doesn’t think it’s some random fucker.
Instantly she slumps against my chest, her hand gripping my shirt. She lets me hold her for a while before she pushes away.
Lifting my hand to her bruised face, I gently cup her jaw. “Will you look at me?”
Abigail shakes her head before whispering, “I’m okay.”
Leaning down, I press my forehead to hers, and our eyes lock. “You’re not okay, and I’m not going to watch you break in front of my eyes.” I pull a little back, my love for her pouring into my voice as I say, “I’m here for you, Abigail. I’ll help you in any way I can.”
She takes a step back and removes my hand from her cheek. “I’m just tired. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
I tilt my head and stare at her, wishing I could find a way to get through to her. Instead of pushing her, I say, “I’ll give you your space, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
She turns away from me, and picking up the gun, she starts walking toward the armory. I follow her, and only after she’s handed the weapon in does she glance at me. “Thank you, Nikolai, but I’m really okay. It’s just been a shitty two weeks.”
“Take a week off from training and get some rest. Okay?”
Abigail lets out a sigh and nods before she walks out of the armory. I follow her until I reach my studio, then watch her head toward the stairs.
I don’t know what I’ll do if Abigail continues to keep me out of her life.
Chapter 22
Abbie
As I’m not allowed to attend training during the day, I hide in my suite, staring at a blank canvas. The hours are long and torturous.
I don’t know what to paint. Nothing is beautiful anymore.
I keep swirling the tip of the brush in the paint on the palette, the colors blending until everything is black.
It’s fitting.
Lifting the brush to the blank canvas, I slash a line from corner to corner. Slowly I start to cover the white of the canvas until everything is black.
It’s exactly what’s been done to my life. All the color has been erased from it, leaving me in darkness.
Sitting with the palette and brush in my hands, the paint dries as afternoon turns to evening, and all I can do is stare at the ruined canvas that represents my life.
I wish I was stronger.
I hate that I can’t erase the memories and reclaim my life.
I hear a knock at my door but don’t move to open it. Whoever is here can go away.
When I hear the door click open, I close my eyes.
Nikolai. Only he has the keycard.