Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Nigella comes to his other side. “Silas. You get arrested now, there will be nothing I can do to get you out of jail, you hear me?”
“What kind of man beats a woman? What kind of coward?” Silas asks Ethan.
“Silas.” I manage to squeeze myself between them, wrapping my arms around Silas’s neck, feeling Ethan’s fingers dig into my waist. “Take me out of here. Please. Silas get me out of here.”
He looks down at me as if seeing me for the first time, as if just realizing I’m right here.
“I need you to take me home, Silas. Now!”
“Home?” Ethan snorts.
Silas wraps his arms around me and lifts me away, turning right into the path of the waiting police officers.
“Let’s go,” Nigella says, stepping between them and us.
“You should arrest him. He’s a danger to society. He kidnapped her!” Ethan is yelling. “It’s all over the fucking news.”
“My client did no such thing. This is his wife.”
“Wife?” Ethan calls out. “Are you fucking serious, Phee? That ring… You fucking married this bastard?” He grabs my arm and it’s lucky he does because the officers stop looking at Silas and turn their attention to Ethan.
“Ma’am,” one asks me.
“He’s my husband. He didn’t kidnap me.”
“I’m taking my client out of here,” Nigella says.
“You fucking cunt!” Ethan calls out.
“Sir, you’re going to need to calm down,” an officer tells Ethan, and Nigella and I use that opportunity to drag Silas out of the hospital, Hamish following close.
“You’d better drive,” Nigella tells Hamish. “And you,” she turns to Silas. “You just keep yourself at home and try not to get arrested in the next twenty-four hours.” She looks at me, eyebrows raised.
“I’ll make sure.”
“Good. I’ll be there soon to go over the clusterfuck your husband has made of his life. Now get him out of here before the cops change their minds.”
13
SILAS
Istare at the back of Hamish’s neck, trying to breathe, to calm myself down. I have a hold of Ophelia’s hand. It’s taking all I have not to squeeze too hard, but I can’t let her go. Look what happened the minute I did. Ethan got to her. Fucking Ethan somehow got to her.
As soon as we pull to a stop at the house, I reach over to open Ophelia’s door.
“Go inside,” I tell her as Hamish kills the engine and looks at me in the rear-view mirror.
Ophelia looks from me to Hamish and back. “Silas, he was right there—”
I turn to her and what she sees in my eyes makes her stop. “In. Now. You’re not off the hook with me.”
She swallows but stands her ground. “If you hadn’t barreled in like you did, he’d have gotten me out of there.”
“It’s all right,” Hamish tells her. “He’s right to be angry.”
She looks at him, then at me.
“Go. Inside.”
Although reluctant, she climbs out and goes into the house.
Hamish and I both step out of the vehicle.
“What the fuck was your one job?” I bark.
Hamish’s jaw tightens, he nods. “I’m not going to make excuses. I shouldn’t have walked away.”
“No. You shouldn’t have. There aren’t a whole lot of people I trust, Hamish. And she is too precious to risk.”
“Understood. I’m sorry, Silas.” He taps his jaw, then sets his hands behind his back.
“Christ. I’m not going to fucking beat you. Just don’t fuck up again.”
“You can. It’s your right.”
“Don’t fuck up. That’s all.” With that I walk inside, hearing Hamish light up a cigarette behind me. Ophelia is at the window watching us. I close the front door and for the first time in a long time, breathe a sigh of relief.
She’s here. She’s safe. She’s mine.
I go to her, take her in my arms and pull her to me. Cupping the back of her head, I bury my face in her hair, memorizing her scent, and, another first in a long time, I feel like I’ve come home.
I kiss the top of her head and draw back to look at her.
“What were you doing at the hospital? Didn’t I tell you I’d take you to see your father?”
“You did but you were gone.” She touches my face, brushing my hair back from my forehead. “You okay?”
“What a cluster. I need to wash the smell of jail off me.” I take her hand and lead her up the stairs, where I decide on a bath instead of the shower. I roll up my shirt sleeve and sit on the edge. Once the water is to the right temperature, I plug the tub. I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted. I haven’t slept properly in too many nights.
But there’s one thing I need to do before I rest.
I study Ophelia as I dry my hand on a towel. “Take off your clothes.”
“Me? I already—"
“Take off your clothes, O,” I repeat, sitting on the velvet bench and crossing one ankle over the opposite knee to watch.