Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I wake from my dream, my heart pounding. I sit up in bed and stare. I can still feel the sticky warmth of her blood on my hands. Still smell the metallic stench of blood. Still feel the heavy weight of the knowledge that I failed again.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I have to move.
The faintest tinge of light outside the window tells me it’s not quite dawn.
I close my eyes.
It was a dream. Only a dream.
It’s my wedding day, and it was only a dream.
No one’s screaming or crying. It’s blissfully quiet. Peaceful, even.
I step out of bed and stretch, welcoming the pain in my legs and arms from yesterday’s ball-busting workout. I school my emotions at the gym and today will be no exception.
I walk to the window and half expect to see white folding chairs stained with my bride’s blood.
There’s nothing but frosted grass, though. We’re not even having any guests outside. The wedding will be inside.
And that was only a dream.
Then why does my heart still race as if it actually happened?
It did once. Years ago. Another time and another place, but it happened once before.
I walk to the bathroom on autopilot and splash water on my face. Stare at my reflection, half expecting to see sunken eyes and pallid skin like I did for months following her death.
But sometimes images don’t match reality. I look too fucking healthy for what goes on in my mind.
A fist pounds on the door. It isn’t a knock, but a slam. Nikko probably.
“Come in,” I yell over my shoulder.
“Jesus, you could tell me you’re taking a piss,” he says with disgust.
“I just woke up, asshole. What do you need?” I lift the hand I’m not using and flip him off.
“You think I only come to see you when I need something?”
“No,” I say with dripping sarcasm. “You came in here to wish me well on my wedding day. Give me some brotherly advice.” I finish my business, flush, and wash my hands. I look at his reflection in the mirror. “Give me a warm hug?”
“Okay, now you’re taking shit too far. Jesus,” Nikko mutters. “First, happy wedding day.”
“Yeah, thanks. All look clear?”
“Crystal clear. Too clear. We’ve got every goddamn one of us on high alert, and nothing’s out of place. Doesn’t make sense unless they learned their lesson already and know better than to cross us.”
I shrug, looking casual, so I don’t betray the staccato rhythm of my heartbeat.
They call Mikhail the Siberian Tiger. Viktor the Iron Fist. Nikko the Steel Serpent.
You could say we have a reputation.
“We don’t let our guard down for a second,” I tell him, putting toothpaste on a toothbrush. “You want to hit the weights with me?”
He scowls and wrinkles his nose. “Fuck no. Think I have a death wish?”
He lifts with Viktor but doesn’t like the early morning ass-kicking routine.
“Fine, be a pussy then. You gonna tell me what you need or what?”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “Well, now that I’m here…”
I roll my eyes and spit out the toothpaste.
“So, uh… got a small issue with some footage that might not look too good for us. Can you clean it up? Make it look like we were never there?"
I narrow my eyes at him. “Mikhail know?”
“Fuck no, but it’s nothing big. Just keep it between us.”
I snort. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, man.”
I need to see Harper.
I just want to prove to myself that it was only a dream.
I need to see her now. When I close my eyes, I can still see her wrapped in a blood-soaked wedding dress. I need to purge that image from my mind.
Nikko takes off and I walk to the guest room where she’s staying. We Russians have our traditions and so do the Italians. The idea of an Italian princess sharing a bed with her future husband is scandalous. I don’t usually care about shit like that, but I hold to traditions. Simplifies shit.
There’s a faint clink of dishes in the kitchen, staff preparing for the day ahead, but other than that the house is still cloaked in the pre-dawn quiet. My steps are noiseless as I walk to her room. The guards I have stationed outside her door scatter to the side when I glare at them to move.
I pause outside the door and listen for a sound.
I knock. No response.
I knock again. Nothing.
I can’t hear…anything. No rustling of sheets. I can’t even hear her breathing. Panic swoops over me and my vision blurs.
I quickly unlock the door and shove it open, rush in and find — her sleeping peacefully in bed.
I feel like I shouldn’t be here. It’s my home and she’ll be my wife, but without her sassy sparring it feels like she’s as vulnerable as a small child.