Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 71179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
The moon hangs low in the night sky, and it casts a pale glow over the sprawling mansion. I follow Leif as he slowly opens the wrought-iron gate and enters the property. He follows the shadows, keeping us cloaked. Our black attire blends seamlessly into the darkness. A cool breeze sweeps over us, makes the trees in the yard rustle.
“Armed guards?” I whisper.
“Probably,” he says, his voice so low I can barely hear him. “But they won’t know security is down yet. We just have to stay out of their sight. Stick to the shadows.”
“Won’t they see the security lights are out?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “There’ll be a backup generator that takes over the main system.”
“Then how the hell are we going to get into the house?”
“Leave that to me,” Leif says.
2
SAVANNAH
Welcome to hell.
I close my eyes, prepare my body for what is about to happen.
No gun is being held to my head, no knife to my heart.
My life is not in danger.
What am I supposed to feel?
Disgust?
Yeah, I feel that.
But fear?
No. I’m not afraid. He won’t kill me. He has to marry me first, for whatever reason his family deems important enough to force this.
I just wish I were stronger, capable of overpowering Miles and his horrid body.
His breath is minty fresh, which only angers me. He’s a rapist, damn it. His breath should smell like rotted garbage.
Falcon won’t be coming for me. He doesn’t even know where I am.
Besides, I did this for him.
I made this deal with the devil to make sure he doesn’t go down for murdering Abel, and Miles had better damned well keep that promise.
Falcon.
Think of Falcon.
It’s Falcon about to fuck me.
Not Miles McAllister.
Only Falcon.
My Falcon—
My eyes shoot open.
Except this isn’t Falcon, and not even the best imagination in the world can convince me that the man ready to thrust into me is anyone other than who he is.
Miles McAllister.
His shoulders are narrow, and while he clearly goes to the gym often, his muscles don’t rip out of his shirt the way Falcon’s do. His hair has an oily sheen to it, like he’s skipped a few showers. But even with those physical differences, I could close my eyes and imagine Falcon.
But I could never get past his face. He’s not a bad looking guy, but even the handsomest man in the world would look ugly if he had a heart as dark as Miles’s. Especially his eyes. They’re like two bottomless whirlpools, waiting to swallow up any unsuspecting swimmers that come within their grasp. Eyes that could kill with a simple glance.
I stare straight into those mean blue eyes. “So you’re a rapist now?”
“You made a deal,” he says through clenched teeth.
“I made a deal to marry you. Not to be raped by you.”
He cocks his head. “What the fuck do you think marriage is, Savvy? We’re going to fuck.”
“Yeah. After we’re married. This wasn’t part of the deal, Miles.”
Will he buy it?
Probably not, but at least I’ve got a moment’s reprieve.
An extra moment to try to figure out how to get out of this mess.
A moment ago I wasn’t regretting this decision, but now?
The idea of anyone inside me other than Falcon Bellamy has me ready to hurl. My belly cramps—an intense pain, like a knife slicing into my stomach.
Acid rises in my throat, but I swallow it down.
Big mistake, because rhythmic contractions start in my gut and diaphragm.
The salmon, the salad, the—
All of it.
All of it’s coming.
Then it explodes with projectile force out of my mouth and right into Miles’s face.
I retch once, twice, three times until Miles, the bed, and I are all covered in puke.
“My God!” Miles spits the vomit from his mouth. “Fucking disgusting. Jesus!”
He scrambles off the bed and into my bathroom. I hear the whoosh of the faucet on the sink.
The acrid scent of puke erupts around me. I wrinkle my nose, feel nauseated again, but then I inhale once more.
Still disgusting, but in a way it’s sweeter than a rose in bloom because it got Miles McAllister off of me.
I’ve no doubt he’ll be back because for some reason he needs to marry me.
Some reason I need to figure out.
But it’s not going to happen tonight.
My green silk nightgown is covered in barf. I get off the bed, pull off the comforter.
It looks like it didn’t seep through to the sheets, so that’s good.
I’m not sure what to do, because I won’t be able to open my door to get the comforter out of here. Still, the stench will overwhelm me eventually, so I need to at least get it as far away from me as possible. I drag the soiled comforter out of the bedroom and through the sitting area to the door and—
I gasp.
The door is cracked, but only slightly. No sliver of light from the hallway is visible. Only about an inch of the wood is visible, with no actual crack where I can pull it open.