Total pages in book: 205
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
That’s okay. I can be mad. This isn’t the end of the road. I can break. People bounce back all the time. When I feel sad, I can be sad. If I lose my way, I’ll find it again. I won’t be alone.
I rest a hand against my stomach. Someone else depends on me now.
Why can’t Monty see how much we need him? Why isn’t he here, putting his heart and soul into the only family he has?
Well, he made his decision.
Time to go.
With a fractured exhale, I steal a final, longing look in the direction of the docks.
Then I feel him.
Like a dark shadow draping my back, he materializes without sound. Rain streaks the glass before me, blurring his reflection in the window. I spin toward him, my heart skipping, expectant, and—
Standing a breath away, close enough to kiss, I stare into the gray eyes of a man who isn’t my husband.
A thunderbolt of shock staggers me, sticking my feet to the floor. It takes seconds to shake off my confusion before everything sharpens into rage.
Monty isn’t here after all, and now, I have to deal with some motherfucker rudely sneaking into my bedroom to…do what exactly?
My mind tumbles, trying to piece together an explanation for the stranger’s presence. Wet hair, unreadable expression, handsome face—familiar, but I can’t place it—honed physique, latex gloves, rope in his hands, and…Are those Monty’s slippers?
Not good. Not good. Not good.
“Don’t struggle.” He lifts the rope, angling it toward my neck. “This will only hurt a little.”
Oh, hell no.
I pivot toward the bed where I left my phone. Yelling won’t help. I’m alone on the island. But I scream anyway, flinging myself at the mattress, arms outstretched, scrabbling for the phone.
My body doesn’t land.
A brawny arm catches me around the waist, hauling me backward, immobilizing me.
“Don’t make this hard on yourself.” He sighs at my ear, confining me in a shackle of limbs with my back against his chest. “I’ve wrestled some nasty bears in my life. You’re a newborn lamb in comparison.”
He shoves a forearm in front of my face, revealing a jagged silver scar that runs from his gloved hand to his bicep. From bear teeth? Claws? I don’t fucking care.
“Let me go!” Breathless, I thrash against his unflinchingly hard body. “You tripped a silent alarm when you entered the house. The police will be here any second.”
“I’m not an idiot, Frankie Novak.” Restraining me tightly with one arm, he brings the other up and winds the rope around my neck. “No one is coming for you.”
He knows my name. That means he knows I’m married to the richest man in Alaska.
As if the island doesn’t give it away.
Is that why he’s here?
“You want money.” My eyes water as I gouge my fingernails into his wrists, a useless attempt to ward off his restraints. “Take whatever you want. It’s yours.”
“Don’t fight,” he says softly, wrapping the rope from my neck to my hands.
How is he binding me so quickly? He cinches knots faster than I can twist out of them.
Fucking hell, is he hogtying me?
“What do you want?” The harder I yank on the rope, the tighter the noose shrinks around my throat. Oh God, it’s too much. Losing air. My vision blurs, and panic arrives in full force. “Get this off me. Get it off!”
Years of running awarded me strong legs, but he seems to recognize that. As I dig in my feet to spring away, he sweeps my legs out from under me.
Despite his aggression, he isn’t needlessly rough. In a blink, I’m on the floor, but rather than kicking me down, he lowers me slowly, preventing a hard fall.
I’m holding back, too. I can’t help it. The fragile life in my womb won’t survive a well-placed strike. Through every movement, I instinctively protect my core, and it costs me.
Pinned beneath heavy muscle, I’m done for. With the skill of a man who can likely overpower a feral animal with his eyes closed, he neutralizes me without breaking a sweat.
The restrictive binding locks my wrists together, fastens my hands to the rope at my neck and feet, and wrenches my body into a fetal position.
I lie on my side, lungs panting and chest on fire. Now that he has me where he wants me—out of breath, bone-tired, and tied like a pig on a spit—he softly pets my sweaty hair.
A shudder rips through me. “Don’t touch me.”
“I can make this so much worse for you.” Fisting a hunk of curls, he gives a warning yank and lets go.
“How did you get in?”
He rattles off the code for the security system.
My brows squeeze together, my pulse racing. “How—?”
“You’re asking the wrong questions.”
“Why are you here? What do you want?”
His gaze traces the bent curve of my body and pauses in the vicinity of my groin.