Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Do you think Fiora’s life is in danger?” I ask.
Braken lifts his gaze to meet mine, the soft glow of the bar lights reflecting in his eyes as he shrugs. “There’s no real way of knowing yet, but she’s a Godwin, and her brother was just murdered. So, I’d say she isn’t exactly safe, but regardless, someone needs to break the news to her, and I feel it needs to be me.”
Chapter 8
Fiora
I need to figure out what I’m doing with my life. I’ve never been one to be impulsive, and yet, here I am, hiding out on Heathens Hollow. It’s only a matter of time until my father finds me. I know this, even though a part of me feels he doesn’t care I’m gone. At least not yet. Because if he truly did care… he’d be standing on my doorstep.
No one can escape a Godwin.
Every creaking branch outside my window or rustle of leaves in the wind causes my heart to leap into my throat. Because truth be told, no matter how far you run or where you hide, there’s one thing you can never truly escape—your past.
Any now I don’t even have a future. I’m in this fucked purgatory.
When a knock sounds at my door, I jump, half expecting it to be my father simply because I’m thinking about him.
Peeking out the side window, I see it is not my father, nor is it any of his minions. Instead, it’s… Braken Frost? The owner of The Vault.
It takes me a few seconds to process why this man would be standing on my doorstep, and I can’t think of a possible reason why. I saw him last night at the club, but we didn’t speak.
Cautiously, I open the door, standing behind it for protection. Braken is the last person I’d expect to be showing up on my doorstep.
“Braken – what are you doing here?” I croak out, my voice sounding much more fearful than I mean it to.
He seems taken aback by my nervousness, or maybe because I know who he is. “We’ve never been formally introduced,” he begins. “I’m Braken Frost.”
“I know.”
An awkward silence passes before he speaks again. “Listen,” he begins, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. “I have some news, and… can I come inside so we can talk?”
Hesitant, I manage a nod and step aside to allow him to enter. He steps into the cottage as he takes in my cozy space. I close the door quietly behind him, my mind already racing with possibilities of why Braken Frost would come all this way to visit me.
He’s much taller than I assumed when I saw him at the club, towering over me as he stands in the middle of the room. A tattoo on his neck peeks out from his collar, and I freeze.
I recognize the tattoo.
A cold shiver runs down my spine, and I feel nauseous. I fucked this man, and yet… we aren’t supposed to know that we did. Or at least I’m not supposed to know.
He eyes the room for a few moments before he turns back to me, his gaze serious. “I don’t know how to say this. But I have some bad news.”
“Bad news?” I echo, my voice flat.
Braken hesitates, searching my face for something he seems unable to find. “Yeah, it’s about your brother...” His tone is bordering on gentle, a stark contrast to his imposing figure and the overwhelming sense of doom that radiates from him.
My heart plummets into the pit of my stomach, and I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “What about him?” I struggle to keep my voice steady.
He runs his hand through his hair, a clear sign of his discomfort. “He...uh... he’s been murdered. And I know you are here in hiding, so there is no way for your family to reach you so… I’m here to let you know that you need to reach out to your father.”
A wave of panic washes over me at his words. My brother? My father? Murder?
“How do you know who I am?” I somehow squeak out.
“Fiora Godwin,” he says. “I know who you are.”
With those words, the room goes quiet. So, he knows my real name, he knows who I am. His eyes are filled with understanding and a deep sadness that mirrors my own.
“Mason? There has to be a mistake,” I begin. “My brother—”
“There was a car bombing,” he begins. “He was inside.”
The silence that follows is deafening. The world outside seems to move on as if nothing has happened, while inside this room, I can hardly breathe.
My mind is racing, scrambling for answers to a thousand questions. How does Braken know where to find me? How does he know about my brother?
I open my mouth to speak but close it again.
Braken watches me silently, his stern face betraying no emotion. He’s a rock in this storm of confusion and grief that is washing over me. His presence is an invasion, yet oddly comforting in its solidarity.