Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I lie in bed, not daring to make a sound. I want to observe him like this, silent and thoughtful.
His fingers flick over the screen of the tablet. I squint my eyes so I can see more clearly. I’m suddenly very wide awake when I realize he’s watching recorded footage… of him.
I don’t know who the man is, but he works for my brother. They were tight when they were younger. The man kneels on the pavement, the night dark, while he pleads in Spanish for his life. Ollie’s voice is cold and calculating as he questions him.
“Where is she?”
It takes me a moment in my sleepy haze to realize the she is me. I watch in horror as the man continues to plead for his life. Someone mutters in Spanish—the person making the recording.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to hear. It’s so low it’s like background noise, but anyone would recognize the desperation as he begs for his life.
I open my eyes just as Ollie puts a gun to the man’s head and pulls the trigger. I can’t completely stifle my gasp. Ollie turns quickly to see me watching him. Our eyes meet.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” he says with genuine warmth, his eyes lighting up. He places the tablet on the table and walks over to me. I flinch when he reaches to touch me.
A deep furrow knits his brows. “What is it, Renata? Why are you looking at me like I’m going to hurt you?”
My heart races, and my stomach aches. How could I have been raised in this life and still, even now, be consumed with revulsion at violence?
When I don’t answer, he strokes thick, rough fingers through my hair. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, his jaw covered in rough stubble. As he drags his hand down to my shoulders, he frowns, touching me with such tenderness it’s as if he’s memorizing the way I look and feel.
“Everything I do, I do to ensure your safety, meelaya.”
Sweetheart.
His touch is gentle, his voice soft, as he pulls me into an embrace, his touch reassuring.
“You’ll hold our children with the same hands you use to hurt people.”
“Yes,” he says quietly and offers nothing else. Agreement. No explanation and no lies.
“What if I don’t like that?”
“Like what, Renata?”
His heart beats under my cheek.
“This lifestyle. What if I want to… to leave it behind us? Have a life that is normal and pedestrian.”
A beat passes before he shakes his head. “Nyet. You say this now, Renata. You’ve got a tender heart. You’re sensitive. I knew this when I first met you.” He smiles sadly. “Why do you think I bought you a puppy? But you and I both know there is no escape from what’s before us. Not for me. Not for you.”
He’s right; I know he is. I could pack up and leave. Run away. But my brother is alive, and he’ll stop at nothing until he finds me. Everything we are, everything we own, is tied up in the Romanov family line and the Los Sangre Dorada. We’d be penniless and friendless with targets on our backs.
But we’d be free.
“Let’s talk no more of this,” he says, bending to kiss my forehead. It doesn’t feel as tender as it did before. “Are you hungry?”
The apple pie I ate at the diner seems like ages ago. “I’m starving. But I’m not so sure this is the kind of place that has room service.”
He shrugs. “We don’t need room service, and we will skip the continental breakfast. There are four different places nearby that offer delivery, I can order whatever you want with the touch of a button.”
Oh, right.
I sit up. “Sounds great.”
I walk to the bathroom and clean up. The shower is larger than I expect, and the little bottles of toiletries, while not expensive, smell faintly of lemon. I take my time washing up, and by the time I join him, wrapped in a white towel, he’s got several cardboard containers on the bed.
We sit cross-legged on the bed, inspecting each one. Turns out ordering breakfast takeout doesn’t hold a candle to actually going out to a diner, but you can’t eat in a restaurant half-naked, so it’s a good trade-off. The eggs are a bit cold and the toast soggy, but there’s a warm muffin studded with plump blueberries topped with thick sugar.
I take a bite. “Mmm. This is delicious. Do you want it?” I ask.
He shakes his head and eats the cold eggs. “You eat it. I’m fine with the eggs.”
“You do the high protein thing for your manly physique?” I ask, smirking.
He winks. “It works.”
I slather butter on the muffin. “Yes, it does. Do you know how to cook?”
He nods. “I do. I travel a lot, so it helps to know how. You?”