Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
I didn’t know whether he’d covered me up so I wouldn’t show my goods to his staff or because it was cold, but gratitude swam laps inside me, nonetheless. Not just gratitude but elation.
Lord, was I screwed. The sight of his face restarted my heart, and the idea of not seeing it again…
He buttoned the coat around me like I was a small child, ensuring I was snug inside it. I swore he smelled of alcohol and blood.
Anger slashed a deep line between his brows, the hard set of his jaw rendering him unapproachable.
Still, I needed to try.
“Romeo, I’m so sor—”
“I’m not interested in your standard ‘sorry’ that usually follows despicable behavior, for which you never shoulder the consequences.” He turned to Cara. “Take my wife back to our house, and see to it that she doesn’t leave until I get there.”
Cara white-knuckled her keys. “Of course.”
It seemed obvious now that I’d figured it out. Cara knew what had transpired between Morgan and Senior. After all, she’d referenced it the day she brought my new wardrobe.
Another obvious thing—how much Cara loathed me for the trick I’d pulled today. I couldn’t even blame her.
I’d begun to dislike myself for all the punishment I’d inflicted upon her boss.
Cara led me to Jared’s car. I craned my neck, desperate to catch Romeo’s gaze, but he refused my attention.
He kept his eyes trained on his father. The father he couldn’t punch the daylights out of right now, even though it’d be completely warranted, since he was vying for the CEO position.
In the background, bulky men unloaded from Jeeps, jogging toward the ditch. What a disaster.
And it was all my doing.
I wanted to call Romeo’s name, but my voice perished in my throat.
Darkness seeped into me, cutting clean through my flesh and bones, straight into my soul.
The realization something terrible had happened to my husband—and that it was inflicted by his family—gripped me like a rust-clawed demon.
How could I be so blind?
I should’ve remembered what I learned from books.
Beasts were never born—they were made.
Ollie vB
Holy shit.
I cannot believe Rom just WENT THERE.
Zach Sun
Maybe he wasn’t the one to do it?
Maybe mainstream media got something right for a change?
Romeo Costa
It didn’t.
Zach Sun
This is why optimism should be outlawed.
It is basically free false advertising.
Ollie vB
Is the story true?
Romeo Costa
It is.
Ollie vB
This is great.
Zach Sun
Great for whom?
Not for nature and certainly not for humanity.
Ollie vB
FOR ROM.
Thanks, Zach, for shitting on your best friend’s parade.
You do know there is CON in the word conscience, right?
Zach Sun
There is also cute in execute.
Does that mean murder is adorable?
Romeo Costa
@ZachSun, stop.
You’ll make his head explode.
Zach Sun
Speaking of exploding matters, word around town is the drill today didn’t go fantastically.
Romeo Costa
You can credit my wife for the disaster.
That cost us 800K, excluding the extra manpower.
Ollie vB
Her talent of burning money is astounding.
Have you considered enrolling her in America’s Got Talent?
Zach Sun
How is Des Moines, anyway?
Romeo Costa
Not speaking to me.
Ollie vB
Marriage is great.
@ZachSun, coming soon to the reality near you.
Zach Sun
I’ll never marry a (clearly imbalanced) complete stranger.
Romeo Costa
Never say never.
I resisted the urge to check on Shortbread through the cameras.
Unlike Senior, I honored promises and contracts I committed to.
I kept opening my desk drawer. Each time I did, I cooled off a little more.
A Glock 19 nestled inside. Unloaded. A comfort blanket of sorts.
Every time Senior drove me to the brink of madness, I’d stare at it and remind myself he’d soon be dead. Nothing but a distant memory and rotting bones.
His impending death put me in a decent mood, but eventually, my mind circled back to the sight of him touching Dallas.
If I’d been there, it wouldn’t have happened. As it was, I’d locked myself in the helicopter as a preventative measure.
What, precisely, was I preventing? Making good on my threat to pluck out the eyeballs of everyone who’d gaped at her.
In the helicopter, I nursed a tumbler of whisky, crushing it from the blunt force of my fist. The glass sliced through my skin. Cara had to stitch me up once she returned from escorting Dallas home.
As for Senior, I should’ve known he couldn’t help himself. Shouldn’t have assumed he had no interest in her, just because he’d only taken Morgan as a lesson for me.
But Dallas wasn’t Morgan.
She was indisputably, irrevocably mine.
An utterly nonnegotiable constant in my life.
One I’d go to frightening lengths to broadcast.
Including, apparently, calling her a slut.
Few words revolted me. This one did. There existed no creature more spineless than a chauvinist, which I’d exhibited in spectacular fashion.
Today marked my first time using it.
And my last time.
Wielding it to goad her was an act of juvenile rebellion. An apology was in order.
Since I’d never apologized to anyone in my life, I was ninety-nine percent sure I’d fuck it up. Also—that seemed to be the general theme of our marriage.