Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Still, if I’m really honest, all of those things are fairly consistent with how my brothers would behave.
And he hasn’t really done anything to me that’s too scary… yet.
I know the time will come. I know my brothers wouldn’t fabricate things about someone just for the hell of it. So while I let myself enjoy the good parts—everything from our conversations to sex to meals together—I am not naïve enough to think this is all there is to Salvatore Capo.
I’m wide awake. We left one of the window shades half open, and outside I can see the vacant beach, one lone umbrella from earlier still keeping the sand beneath it cool. Beyond the beach, moonlight from the full moon glints as it reflects off the glacial blue of the water.
No footsteps.
I sit up and yawn, then look down at myself. I’m wearing nothing but one of Salvatore’s faded Black Sabbath tees. He usually dresses professionally in a suit, like my brothers do, but he’s got a small, well-worn wardrobe of casual clothes as well. Last night, he tugged this on me because I was cold. I like the smell of him on me.
I know it’s dangerous to allow myself to grow sentimental and hopeful. I hope I don’t regret it.
I grab a robe and sling it on, slide into my slippers and go looking.
It doesn’t take long to realize he isn’t in the suite. How did I not hear him slip out?
My heart thuds as I reach for the door. I haven’t left this room without him since we got here, and I’m not entirely sure what he’d think about me doing it now.
He didn’t say I couldn’t. I don’t think.
Noiselessly, I open the door. Other than his staff and the boy we found the first night who’s remained under the watchful protection of staff until we go home, our hotel is vacant. It makes it easy to hear every word and conversation, though. So when I hear the deep register of Salvatore’s voice nearby, I pause and listen.
I should turn around and go back to our room.
I shouldn’t pry or step my foot in a place it’s not welcome, but when I hear the higher-pitched voice of the stowaway we found, I freeze.
I don’t care if I’m half dressed. I don’t care if he’ll get mad at me. I can deal with that. If he’s being too harsh on a boy…
I slow my steps as I turn the corner. No need for me to make a big appearance. No need for him to even really know I was ever here.
Conveniently, they’re meeting right outside the spa with a guest services doorway I can hide in.
Salvatore’s passing in front of the seated boy. “What did I tell you would happen if you didn’t stay out of trouble? The only reason you’re even here is because my wife has a soft spot for children, and I happen to like her.”
My heart does a little somersault. He likes me? It’s a good start. But I don’t like the tone of this…
“You said you’d hurt me,” the boy says, his voice shaking. “And I was trying to stay out of trouble.”
He said he’d hurt him? When?
Oh no he did not!
Salvatore crouches in front of him, and the boy flinches. What reason has Salvatore given him to? Has he hurt him already? A chill runs down my spine. I cringe. “You call setting fire to the kitchen napkins staying out of trouble?” When the boy doesn’t answer, he reaches his hand out to him, and the boy flinches.
I’ve had enough.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, wandering in and yawning as if I’ve just woken up and stumbled out of bed. I don’t miss the way Salvatore’s eyes narrow on me. He isn’t falling for it.
“Get back in our room,” he snaps. “Now.”
Goddammit. A direct order. I either do what he says, or I don’t.
I know I risk getting in trouble with him. He’s made it very, very clear what he expects of me, and I know I’m pushing it, but right now I don’t care. Not when he’s on the cusp of hurting a child.
“I will,” I tell him, trying to appease him. “But it looks like you’re going to hurt an innocent child, and I won’t stand by and allow that to happen.” My heart races as I say this because I know this is not going over well. I lift my arm to the boy. “Come here.”
He quickly jerks out of Salvatore’s grasp and runs to me.
“Is it true about setting things on fire?” I ask.
The boy, who’s cleaned up since I last saw him, still has a rascally expression on his face which is not helped by a bucketload of freckles and an unruly cowlick.
“Well…” he begins, “I wouldn’t say it was on purpose…”