Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“What the fuck did you just ask me?”
“If you ever touched her. Did anything with her.”
“Camilla Avery? You’re asking me if I fucked Camilla Avery?”
I nod, jaw tight, hating this.
“I can’t fucking…” He shakes his head, muttering the last part. He pushes his hand into his hair. “No, I never touched that bitch. She’s fucking poison. Why in the fuck would you think I did?”
“Are you sure, Caius? Because she mentioned something.”
“What did she mention?”
“If you did anything with her, anything at all, now is the time to come clean.”
“I’m not sure how many times I can tell you no. Oh, and by the way, fuck you!” He turns to the door. “I don’t have to stand here and take this, you fucking asshole. All I’ve ever done was have your back and what? You go over there, and she spews some poison, and you eat it up? Are you that gullible or am I that untrustworthy? Is that how little you think of me? Of us?”
“Push up your sleeves and hold out your arms.”
“What?”
“Do it. Push up your sleeves and hold out your arms.”
“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” he says. Shaking his head all along, he does as I say, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater. He holds out his arms.
And fuck me.
Because right there, right where it’s fucking supposed to be, is that bracelet.
9
SANTOS
Blood rushes in my veins, the sound a roar in my ears as I stare at that fucking bracelet for a fucking eternity. I scrub my face, wrap my hand around the back of my neck and turn away, slamming my fist against the desk so hard, everything on top of it rattles.
“What the fuck, Santos?”
I shake my head. How could I think it was Caius? How could I fucking think it was my own brother up there? That he lied to me.? That he killed a man and brushed it off like it was nothing?
I should know better. I should remember that I’m the only one in our family capable of that. He’s never gone that far.
He slaps his hand onto my shoulder. “I think you owe me a fucking explanation, don’t you?”
“I need a goddamn drink.” I look around the room but all I see are boxes and boxes and more fucking boxes.
“Let’s go to the bar. I can’t find shit up here,” Caius says.
I walk stiffly alongside my brother. My hands are buried inside my pocket, that damned stone right there. Right fucking there. We don’t talk on the elevator. The lobby is moderately busy with men coming for card games or board meetings and ladies on their way from some luncheon to some charity event or tea or whatever it is the idle rich do to fill their days.
Caius leads the way into the dark, elegantly appointed bar. A fire roars in the large limestone fireplace set at the center of the back wall. Booths with high backs along the walls offer privacy. The mahogany bar itself spans the length of one wall. Crystal cocktail glasses hang upside down just above, and behind them, glass shelves illuminated from above carry every liquor known to man.
Caius gestures to the barman and leads us to the farthest booth. I slide in across from my brother, push a hand into my hair, and think what an asshole I am. How could I have suspected my brother of murdering Thiago Avery?
Because that’s what this comes down to.
I meet his eyes. We don’t speak until a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers are set before us and the barman leaves. Caius pours for us both and I swallow mine before he’s picked his glass up.
“Okay, what the hell is going on?”
I can’t tell him. Not about the bead, not that I suspected him of murdering Thiago.
“Camilla. She said some things.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned. Start from the beginning.”
“She suggested you’d been with her. Sexually.”
“Oh, she suggested that? She’s a fucking liar, but that’s not news to you, is it? I wouldn’t touch that woman with a ten-foot pole.” He reaches over and pulls the back of my head toward him. The gesture is aggressive, violent almost, and I deserve it. “And you fucking know that. So what the fuck else is going on?”
When he sits back, I pick up the bottle and pour myself a second glass, the burn of the first having disappeared too fast.
“Jax Donovan was dead when I got there.”
“Already knew that.”
“The security footage was erased.”
“Again, old news.”
“Except it wasn’t. There’s video of me at the house.”
That stops him. “Shit.”
“Yeah, shit.”
“That was destroyed,” he says.
“Apparently not. The person who has that footage, who most likely killed Jax Donovan, sent a still of me coming out of Donovan’s house to Madelena right before the wedding. It’s why she was so out of it. So upset. She thought I’d killed her uncle.”