Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I rested my chin on my closed knuckles as I stared at him. “That’s a bit of a reach.”
“Not if she tells him who she’s fucking.”
I gave a shrug. “It’s done, Axel.”
“Why didn’t you do it?”
“Did you hear what I said?” I snapped. “He’s married to Astrid.”
“What does that matter? He treats her like shit, and he’s the one responsible for Killian’s death. And you just let him walk away?”
I looked away, feeling the self-loathing wash over me.
“I don’t understand, Theo.”
“Astrid has chosen to stay in that marriage, so she still loves him.” It hurt to say the words out loud, marked my tongue with acid. Sometimes I wondered if she thought about him when she was with me. I wondered if she thought about me when she was with him, and I hoped she did. “I can’t kill the man she loves.”
Axel sank back into the couch as he stared at me. “And you say this woman means nothing to you…”
“I never said she meant nothing.”
“Bolton is the only one who knows who put that hit on Killian. There is no other way, Theo. So if you’re going to let him walk for Astrid, then damn, this woman means a lot to you.”
“It was an impulsive decision. I had less than a second to make it.”
“So, you are going to kill him.”
“I don’t know—”
“How do you not know?”
“Get off my neck, Axel.” This had just happened hours ago, and I knew I was in deep shit. My men were utterly bewildered, and I was certain Bolton was confused-as-fuck right now. My twin brother was the only person who had known me my whole life…his whole life. Not to avenge him wasn’t an option. But to kill Bolton…wasn’t really an option either.
“I hope you like bullshit.” Axel stared at me for a while. “Because you’re ankle-deep in it now.”
15
ASTRID
Bolton usually left once a week or every ten days. There was a limit to the number of contracts he would personally take on. The rest, he passed on to other guys in his crew. Sometimes his clients insisted it be him since he was the one who had started the Brotherhood and, therefore, was the best at it.
So when he didn’t leave after ten days, I found that strange.
He was always home, working in his study, and when I came home from work, he had dinner waiting for me.
I’d never seen him make dinner. Didn’t know he even knew how to use the oven.
But he was quiet and distant, not like he was angry with me, but like he had something else on his mind. He rarely talked about work, and I didn’t ask because those were details I preferred to avoid, but I suspected that was the reason for his change of mood, for the fact that he hadn’t gone to work in so long.
Theo didn’t text me either. Didn’t come by the gallery again. Even though it’d been the longest stretch of time we hadn’t spoken, he seemed unbothered by my silence. He was probably trying to respect my boundaries, but I always assumed the worst.
I approached the dining table and saw the feast Bolton had made, roasted chicken surrounded by slow-cooked rice and potatoes. It was coated in a white sauce, something that smelled like garlic and rosemary. “This looks good.” I took my usual seat and placed the napkin across my lap.
He opened a bottle of white wine and poured two glasses. “It’s amazing what the internet can teach you.” He sat across from me and draped his napkin across his lap, waiting for me to take the first serving.
I scooped the hot food onto my plate then watched him do the same, the house quiet with the exception of the music he’d put on the speaker under the window. Steam rose from my plate, smelling like a gourmet meal. “I didn’t know you had an interest in cooking.”
“You cook all the time. Thought I could help out.”
I didn’t mind cooking, but I didn’t love it either. The responsibility had fallen to me because Bolton didn’t want a chef or a housekeeper. Said he preferred to keep our home private rather than open to strangers. “That was sweet of you.” Our relationship had been silently turbulent because we both dodged conversation like the plague. But he had been trying to get into my good graces in other ways, by cooking dinner, by kissing me on the shoulder when I sat on the vanity, being overly generous in bed, as if he was trying to compensate for some kind of shortcoming.
It was mental whiplash. Angry at him one moment then soft when the good memories flooded back. Then I would think about Theo, and the guilt would rush in. We owed nothing to each other, but I somehow felt like I’d stabbed him in the back. Bolton was the one I was married to, but sometimes it was easy to forget. “You haven’t gone back to work. Is everything alright?”