Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“He stalked her,” Dempsey supplies. “Saw her while cleaning your pool, wanted her, and then kidnapped her. That’s it. No need to bring in his connection with Neena.”
Dempsey fires off another shot into Drew’s body, this time in the chest. I’m no expert, but I’ve seen enough crime shows to know they’re covering their tracks, making sure Dempsey will have gunshot residue on his hands, solidifying their coverup.
“We’re going with that story, understood?” Spencer asks me. “It’ll be the safest and quickest way to get us cleared of all this. When Dad gets here, he’ll follow our lead.”
I nod even though it hurts my sore neck to do so. I don’t care what Spencer and Dempsey tell the cops. I just want this day to be over and done with. My whole body hurts and I feel disgusting.
“I want to go home,” I whisper, more tears spilling. “The only thing I need is you and Hugo.”
He hugs me tighter. “You have us. No one can hurt you ever again. I promise.”
With my abduction, Drew managed to get inside my head. Something else happened to Mom. Something no one wants to fess up to. Eventually, I’ll press the issue, but right now I’m just thankful to be alive and in the arms of one of the men I love.
“Is he dead?” I croak out.
“A bullet to the ear, face, and neck. Yeah, he’s dead.”
“I want to see.”
Spencer groans. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“He hurt me. I want to see his body.”
He lets out a resigned sigh before shifting me in his lap. I peer down at Drew’s unmoving form. It’s gruesome to see so much blood. There’s a gaping hole on the side of his neck and a smaller hole that went in his face just above his eye and below his eyebrow.
He’s dead.
This man can’t torment me ever again. No more snakes or kidnappings or beatings. He’s dead. How could my mother even care for someone as twisted as him?
“Spencer! Aubrey!”
Hugo’s voice booming as he enters the house has me crying out with joy. He storms into the room, curses, and then steps over Drew’s body to sit on the other side of me. His hand grips my jaw that’s smeared with vomit and he turns me to look at him.
I know I’m a mess.
But he looks at me like I’m the most precious and beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“So happy you’re alive, Love,” Hugo murmurs, leaning his forehead against mine. “So fucking happy.”
“I threw up,” I say, beginning to notice the smells coming from my body.
“Pissed all over the place too,” Spencer adds, burrowing his face in my hair. “You smell fucking awful, leech.”
I cry with happiness because despite his mean words, he’s holding me like I might vanish. His lips are kissing me near my ear.
“You know we love you,” Hugo assures me. “Even when you’re messy. Especially when you’re messy.”
He dips forward, kissing the corner of my mouth that I hope is dry of vomit, completely forgetting we have an audience.
“Well, fuck me,” Dempsey mutters. “I am not seeing this shit.”
Hugo stiffens and Spencer laughs.
There’s no time for an explanation because seconds later, the tiny home of a monster fills with policemen and policewomen, Sloane leading the fray.
I’m bloody and bruised and sore beyond belief. I’m covered in bodily fluids and wearing splatters of another man’s blood. My body won’t stop shivering and my mind is a mess.
But I’m safe.
My guys came for me and I’m safe.
This nightmare is finally over.
Hugo
Two weeks later…
The bruising has faded on her body and the stitches on her neck are gone. It’s her eyes that still carry the pain from that horrible day. She’ll need to see a therapist and soon. Unfortunately, because of our name, we have to find someone discreet—someone who will take heaps of money to keep their mouth shut. I’m afraid that when the therapist opens Pandora’s box with Aubrey, she’s going to let spill a whole lot of shit that involves both me and my son.
It’s selfish and wrong to deny her the help she needs until we find the right therapist, but I’m not just protecting her. I’m protecting my son too. Hell, I’m protecting the whole family.
Aubrey’s not in her room. She houses all of her things there, but she rarely steps foot in there unless to grab clothes or a quick shower. As far as sleeping, she does that in Spencer’s bed or mine. Thankfully, she takes turns, allowing us each our time with her. Every night she’s with me, she wakes in a panic, gasping for breath and sobbing. I need to sort out this therapist and quick because she needs something to help her sleep.
While I wait on Dad’s text, I turn the knob to Spencer’s room and peek in on them. Spencer isn’t wearing a shirt and the sheets barely cover his waist. Aubrey is wearing one of my T-shirts. Her body is glued to his side, head buried in his neck and leg thrown over his thighs. It’s the same way she sleeps when in my bed, except she’s usually wearing his T-shirts.