Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I gave a quiet sigh in frustration.
“Well?” He straightened in the chair again.
I didn’t want to tell him, but he would pester me until I cracked like a walnut under a boot. “She’s smart. Knew he was going to kill me right in front of her. So she did the only thing she could to keep me alive, convince him that she was willing to work on their marriage. But only if he let me go.” I left out the details of the kiss, but I wanted to pretend that never happened. It meant nothing to her, but it still hurt like hell.
Axel examined me with a curtain of confusion across his eyes. “That was weeks ago! You’ve just been sitting on your ass ever since? She’s stuck with some psychopath, and you’re just staring at some ugly-ass paintings?”
I looked away, choosing to stare at one of those paintings instead of him.
“What the fuck, man?”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
“No one can hide forever. He’s somewhere, and you’ll figure it out—”
“He said if I try, he’ll kill your kids.” It hurt to say it out loud, to say something so fucking indescribable. “And I know he means it.” I didn’t look at Axel because I couldn’t tolerate his reaction. “I can’t risk that. If I could talk to Astrid, I know she would say the same thing.” She would rather live a miserable life than let an innocent child be killed. I kept my eyes on the painting because I wasn’t man enough to look at him.
The silence stretched for a while.
It went on for so long, it was easy to forget that Axel was there. If I focused on the painting long enough, I felt like I was the only person in the room.
Axel eventually found his voice. “That asshole came into my house and took my wife.” He deepened his voice instead of raising it, the fury packed deep inside. “And put a gun to my little girl’s head. I’m not going to let that go.”
I turned to look at him.
“Ever.”
“I understand your anger—”
“No, you don’t,” he said quietly. “I want my gun against his temple. And I want his brains on my clothes after I pull the trigger.”
“Axel.” I understood his rage. I understood the desire for bloodshed. But he wasn’t thinking clearly. “It’s over now. Bolton’s gone, and your family is safe. Be at peace.”
“How can I be at peace when your woman is gone?”
My eyes shifted away.
“Astrid is a prisoner again.”
“Axel, I’ll never get the image of Scarlett’s black eye out of my head. I can’t risk your family, because they’re my family too.” I’d watched my wife die, and I didn’t want Axel to ever know such misery.
His eyes shifted back and forth between mine. “Astrid is family too.”
“She’s not my wife—”
“But she will be—someday. I wouldn’t put my family’s life on the line for just anybody. I know the way you feel about her. I can see it on your face every time you’re in the room with her. Whenever you talk about her, your entire energy changes. You love this woman—which means I love her.”
I couldn’t look at him. He’d already done so much for me. I couldn’t ask him to do anything else.
“Theo.”
I gave a sigh before I met his look.
“Let’s get your woman back.”
“But he’ll come for your family—”
“I’ll send Scarlett and the kids away. She won’t even tell me where they’re going. And this time, we don’t leave until Bolton is dead. Until his heart has stopped and his blood needs to be mopped off the floor. Until that oil drum is sealed. We don’t leave until this shit is done. You hear me?”
“I can’t let you do this for me.”
“Well, I am.”
“Talk to Scarlett first.”
“I will, but I know she’ll agree. I got my woman—and you deserve yours.”
Chapter 17
Astrid
Bolton sat across from me at the table in the restaurant. The other tables were full of couples enjoying a late-night dinner on a beautiful summer night. When we got on the plane, Bolton didn’t tell me our destination, but the second we landed, I recognized Madrid. We had a summer home there we’d hardly ever used.
It’d been a rough couple of weeks, but there’d been a lot of improvements. I told Bolton if he ever struck me again, I would never try again. That he would only look into my soulless eyes until he decided to kill me. Those words seemed to wound him because he hadn’t shown a hint of anger around me.
I participated in conversations like I did in the past. Seemed invested rather than indifferent. Pretended to try…even though I was dead inside. He tried to be intimate with me a couple of times, but I told him I wasn’t ready. Instead of getting angry or forcing me, he accepted it without complaint.