Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 111435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
I couldn’t help thinking of Hades every time I set foot in the club parking lot. Even as I was walking Natasha to her car. She wasn’t shaking or crying anymore, which was a win.
“Thank you so much for tonight, Freya,” she hiccupped, fumbling with her keys.
I wiped a tear from her pretty, fresh, young face. Now that she’d cried most of her makeup off, the freckles over her chin were all the more prevalent, making her look even younger and more vulnerable.
“It will get better, honey, I promise.” My heart broke for her. She was a young single mother who didn’t have any other options, thanks to shitty parents, a shitty education and a shitty hand at life.
She nodded rapidly, sucking in an audible breath, her face clearing under the harsh streetlights. Something passed over her features, something fierce, something that showed me how she’d managed to move out the trailer she had shared with her ex-boyfriend’s family, away from the ex who’d beat her, to a completely new town. She was strong, this girl. This woman.
“I know it will,” she nodded, surety in her voice.
“And you’ve got us, all of us. We have your back. You’re not alone,” I promised her.
She nodded again, tearing up a little more.
“Tuesday night, we’re having chocolate cake for dinner, watching movies, and I’m getting baby snuggles,” I reminded her. I’d made the date with her and Harry, her eight-month-old son, because she barely knew anyone here and needed someone on her team.
“Yes, I can’t wait,” she gave me a small smile.
I leaned forward to open her door for her, watching her get in, then standing there as she drove away. My heart hurt for her. But she’d be okay. I knew that based on the determination I’d seen in her eyes. The strength. She was a fighter.
I sighed, turning back toward my car which was parked across the lot. My mind was on Natasha, on what I was going to eat when I got home and on what Hades might be doing right now. Fucking a club girl, drinking whisky, killing a guy. Then my mind was on how I was supposed to be thinking about anything but Hades.
I was so preoccupied that I didn’t see him until I ran right into him. His hands gripped my upper arms. Hard.
Not paying attention while walking alone in a parking lot was a real TSTL—otherwise known as a ‘too stupid to live moment.’ You know, the heroine who runs up the stairs away from the murderer instead of out the front door? Walking toward the scary noise in the basement? That kind of thing.
I was much smarter than that. Or at least I’d thought I was.
Until my eyes locked with familiar brown ones. “Derek?”
My heart began to beat double time, my stomach dropping as fear crawled from the spots where the pads of his fingers pressed into my bare skin.
“Freya,” he greeted, voice warm, welcoming.
“What are you doing here?” I tried to step out of his grip, but it only tightened.
“I needed to see you. Knew that you needed to see me too.” His eyes flashed to the now dark sign overhead then back down to me, darkening.
Derek looked non-threatening upon first glance. He was of average height. I was almost taller than him when I was wearing my most modest heels, something he hadn’t liked. I hadn’t been able to wear my favorite shoes when I was around him.
His dirty blond hair was styled expertly. It took him almost thirty minutes in the morning, and he used shampoo that cost fifty dollars a bottle. He had conventional good looks—square jaw, always clean-shaven. Nose that was perfectly straight, never broken in a barfight or football game. Derek hadn’t played football. He was a lacrosse guy. An Ivy League guy. A trust fund guy.
“You need to let me go, Derek,” I stated, meeting his eyes, my voice firm and free from fear.
The last thing Derek needed to hear was fear in my voice. He’d like that.
I had no idea what I was thinking when I started going out with him in high school. No … I did. I was thinking he was the epitome of everything I’d never had when I was growing up. The popular, rich guy. The kind of guy who had dated the head cheerleader, the prom queen, the girl with two loving parents who lived behind the white picket fence. He had embodied a lot of the things I’d thought I wanted. That I’d let my mother convince me I didn’t deserve.
I’d let myself be wined and dined by him. Impressed by his good manners, his good breeding, the fact that he bought me gifts, took me to expensive restaurants. But it didn’t take long for me to realize that he was a misogynistic asshole. And that his family was equally horrible, treating me like crap and him letting them. Hence me dumping him.