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)
But now, it’s not arousal.
It’s anger.
I lick my lips, which are so dry they feel cracked.
“Go on.” He gestures to the nightstand with a nod of his head. “You hit your head when you fell.”
“Fell?”
He watches me, unblinking, and I can’t tell what’s going on in his mind. “Why would you go out there? What was your intention?”
I stare up at him, unsure how to answer. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because I can’t tell him that. Can’t say it out loud.
“What were you going to do, Madelena?”
“I…” I start, trailing off. What should I say?
I stabbed you. I saw you bleeding out. How are you alive?
He sighs, then rises to his feet. I feel myself cower backward as he crosses the room, never taking his eyes off me. I track him, holding the blanket against myself. Can I expect him to feel anything but anger? He probably thinks I tried to kill him.
I swallow and force myself to look up at him when he stands directly beside me. Still unsmiling and never once breaking eye contact, he picks up the aspirin and holds them out for me.
“Take them.”
My hand trembles and I’m careful to pluck the pills without touching him.
I put the pills into my mouth and reach to take the glass of water he offers. When our fingers brush against each other, there’s a very clear spark of electricity.
Keeping my eyes on his, I swallow the pills, drink a few more sips, then hold the glass out for him to take. He sets it aside but doesn’t move back to his seat across the room. I want him to because I need the space. The air.
But he chooses to lean against the nearest wall, stealing the oxygen from the room.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in my bed in the Augustine family home.”
I glance around again. “How did I get here?”
“I brought you. You were passed out on the catwalk of the lighthouse. Care to tell me how you got there and who put the bruises on you?” He gestures with a glance toward my jaw.
I touch it, realizing the soreness must be from when the man gripped me to slam my head against the wall.
“You… You’re… I thought I killed you,” I tell him.
“I’m not so easy to kill, remember?”
Confused, I bring my hand to my forehead because I know what I saw. I remember how bad he looked as he lay unconscious, blood pouring from his side and his face bleached of color.
He lifts his sweater. Beneath it, I see the bandage on his side, the dark stain of blood. “Didn’t hit anything vital. Close though.” He studies me for a beat before continuing. “Hate to disappoint you.”
We’d been at the dinner. Odin had come with news about Uncle Jax’s death… About Santos’s involvement. I’d run, but Santos had come after me, and I’d stabbed him. It was an accident, but that hardly matters.
Then there was the lighthouse. Thiago. The stranger. Me.
Thiago going over the edge.
I rub my eyes shut to clear the image. My head hurts. “Thiago?” I ask, looking up at him.
Now Santos is the one who looks confused. “What about him?”
Someone knocks on the door, then opens it. It’s Caius. He peers inside, glances at me, then at his brother. “Want me to come back?”
“No, come on in,” Santos says, slipping a hand into his pocket, his expression unchanging, not relaxing, as he watches his brother enter.
A hand spanned across a chest. A grunt. A scream.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as Caius traps me with his gaze.
“What about Thiago?” Santos repeats the question.
Caius tucks his hands into his pockets and watches me, his head tilting slightly to one side.
“He went over the edge. He…”
Santos steps toward me, that look of worry intensifying, deepening the line between his eyebrows. “Thiago wasn’t there.”
I shake my head, which is a mistake. The room blurs, and I squeeze my eyes shut when it threatens to spin.
“Based on the size of the bump on the back of her head, I’d say she hit it pretty hard. Not sure how reliable her memory is,” Caius offers.
“No,” I say. “I remember. I know what happened.”
“You’re saying Thiago was at the lighthouse?” Santos asks.
I nod.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Brother—”
“Tell me the whole story. From the beginning.”
“After…” I point to where I’d inadvertently stabbed him. “I went to the lighthouse. Thiago was already there. Out on the catwalk.”
Santos glances at his brother, who shrugs.
“I didn’t realize it at first, and when I saw him, I was already outside. I got scared and wanted to get away from him, but the railing broke and I…” I trail off because my stomach lurches with the memory of slipping over the edge. “He caught me and pulled me back up. But then… Then there was someone else.” I look down and push my hands into my hair and for a brief moment, I have a vision of the hands on Thiago’s chest. Of his body going over. I look up at Santos. “The other man pushed him.”