Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 167819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Gripping the hem of my dress, I lift it to look at the brand on my inner thigh. It’s had a bandage over it the last couple of days. Sin cleans it and changes it out for me. I hate that I love it. That he’s claimed me in a way no one ever has before. In a way, it makes me feel accepted. Even I know that’s fucked up. That my childhood has me accept something that most of society would find wrong.
Putting my dress back in place, I respond to Kira as I make my way downstairs and into the formal dining room. I sit down at the table.
“Ellington?”
I look up to see my mom enter with a few members of her staff. “Are you okay, honey? You look a little sick.” Before waiting for me to answer, she turns to them, barking out orders, then faces me once again, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I’m fine, Mom. Just tired.”
“Well, if you wouldn’t stay out all night with random men like a raccoon digging through trash, you wouldn’t be so exhausted.”
I nod, picking up the bottle of champagne from the middle of the table. “You’re right, Mom.” I toss it back, sucking it from the bottle.
She frowns but then orders her little bitches to bring a new bottle since I’ve claimed this one. She walks out and I pull it away from my lips, sucking in a deep breath.
“A glass, Miss Ellington.” A member of her hired staff sets a champagne flute in front of me. His way of telling me my mother won’t appreciate my unruly manners in front of our guests.
I reach out, pick up the crystal flute and then slam it down on the marble floor next to my chair. It was from my mom’s second wedding. A gift from my daddy.
His eyes narrow on mine as I stare up at him. “I’m sorry, it slipped.”
“Quite all right, miss. I’ll get you another one,” he says tightly, turning toward the hallway. I hear him snap his fingers, ordering someone to the formal dining room because picking up my messes are beneath him.
Reaching down, I pick up a piece and hold it in my hand. My pointer finger runs over the sharp corner. I hiss in a breath when I see it’s cut me. The slightest drop of blood pops out before running down my finger. I pull it into my mouth and suck. The taste reminds me of what Sin and I did on the back of the boat. Fuck, I want him even more now than I ever have.
Why? Because I know he’s as fucked up as I am? Because he has known it was me this entire time? He showed up for me when I needed him. He held me in my bed. That has to mean something, right? That it’s more than just sex?
And the mystery man. He’s done so many dirty … no, filthy things to me. Some I begged for. Other times, he didn’t allow me that option.
I hear laughter coming from down the hall and I curl my hand around the glass to hide it. She enters, and my eyes meet a set of brown ones. My breathing picks up. I’ve only ever seen him twice in my life.
I sit in the grand hall on the couch, eyes on the floor.
“Who would do this?” my mother cries. “Who would kill James?”
“I don’t know, Laura. But I’ll find him. I’ll take care of it. There will be retribution.”
I lift my eyes to look at the bastard who sits across from me. He’s got his arms around my mom while she sobs into his side, but his eyes are on me. They drop to my dress, and his brows crease when he looks at my wrists. The marks still visible from the zip tie the mystery man used to tie me up after he killed my stepdad.
The front door opens, and my mom jumps to her feet. “Anything?” she begs.
“No, ma’am.” The officer shakes his head. “No proof of forced entry.”
“He must have been at the party,” Lincoln growls. “Check the list.”
“We have …”
“Then double, triple-check it, for fuck’s sake,” he snaps, and my mom’s body shakes. “I want to know how he had access to this fucking house.”
My bedroom. I watched him leave out of my French doors to my balcony. He must have entered the same way. I never lock them. I prefer to leave them open at night and listen to the wind howl in the trees. It’s soothing.
“Are you okay, miss?” A man comes up to stand in front of me.
I look up at him through my lashes. They’re clumped together. His eyes drop to my dress and heels. I know I look like shit. They think it’s because my stepdad is dead, but it’s because I allowed his killer to fuck me with his gun. My pussy burns. I’m pretty sure I’m getting an infection. But I don’t give a fuck. It was worth it. To be fucked by the very thing that killed the man I hate? I’ll take an infection any day for the price of freedom.