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)
But Freya was unique. She was one of a fucking kind. And her sorrows? Fuck. They cut me in places I hadn’t even known existed in me.
I could feel the love that Victoria had for her niece. It was etched in her, as was the pain.
“Every day I wonder how in the heck she manages it,” Victoria shook her head. “She does because she’s a marvel.” She paused, still looking at me. “She loves you. She has never loved a man before because the only model she had for male love was a father who killed for her. He didn’t show her anything else but that. The only fond memory she has of her father is that he killed the man he should’ve protected her from in the first place.”
“It’s a gift, what you’ve got, that love,” she continued, her voice thick with smoke. “I’m sure you already know that. You’re a smart man. A smart man wouldn’t fuck this up. Wouldn’t ruin this gift.” She took another hit. “Unfortunately, love makes us stupid. I don’t give a fuck about the way you live your life. I’ve got the idea it’s a dangerous one. But there’s nothing more dangerous than hurting Freya. ’Cause I’m an old woman. I’ve lived a good life. I’ll happily kill you, and I’ll do it slowly if you let harm come to her. If you’re like her father, if you choose to show your love by avenging her after the damage is already done.”
Her words hit truer than a bullet to the heart.
Sirius, who had been laying at my feet, lifted his head in the direction of the door then ran barking toward Freya who was walking in with two bags.
She beamed at us. “I know I was supposed to get wine, but I got distracted. With ice cream!” She held up her reusable grocery bags in triumph.
My heart clenched, and I knew what I had to do. I had to destroy this woman. Because I’d damn her otherwise.
FREYA
Something had been off about Hades since Aunt V left. I knew she’d talked to him, had recited the kind of speech a protective father might. Though with her own unique spin. There was no stopping her from doing that, and I hadn’t really worried about it since I figured a man like Hades would be able to handle my aunt and her speech.
But maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe Aunt V had been scary enough to put off the biker who wasn’t afraid of anything.
Or maybe it was something else entirely.
I didn’t push him because I knew pushing a man like Hades could only end badly. If he wanted to talk, he’d talk. Sure, he didn’t do much of that in general—compared to me, at least—but when he had something to say, he didn’t beat around the bush.
So I waited. For him to either tell me what was going on or for the situation to work itself out. The former terrified me, so I prayed for the latter.
But God was apparently on another call or I didn’t have her number, because it all came to a head one night when I didn’t have work and he didn’t have club business. A night when there were no parties, barbeques or family dinners. It was just us two, sitting on the patio after eating dinner and drinking a lot of wine. The fire was raging, the stars above us and Sirius at our feet. I felt safe, comfortable. Embraced.
We hadn’t spoken much throughout the night, though I was used to that. Hades had spoken to me in his own way. With his hands at my hips as I cooked. His lips at my neck, hands sliding under my shirt, tweaking my nipple. They said a picture was worth a thousand words, but there was nothing like the man you loved brushing against your panties with his thumb for the entirety of a meal.
Though I couldn’t translate the thousands of things he told me with his hands, I never would’ve thought any meant goodbye.
“What do you want out of life, Freya?”
The question filtered through the crisp, thick, night air, hanging there.
We had talked about a lot, Hades and me. Almost everything, actually. The past, in all of its ugliness, and the realities of our present. But the future, the future was a big, looming cloud that we never mentioned.
Although the future was surely a topic that couples typically discussed, it had been well established that there was nothing typical about us as a couple.
Despite feeling overwhelmed by the dread weighed on me, heavier than the night sky itself, I forced myself to relax.
“I used to want a normal life,” I answered, my voice low. “A golden retriever. A never-ending pile of laundry. Regular Pilates classes with girlfriends who complained about their husbands. I would complain, too, but secretly be head over heels in love with my husband. I wanted there to be a local coffee shop where as soon as I walk in, the barista greets me by name and asks, ‘the usual?’ ” I paused, thinking of Oliver. “I do have that. I have a lot of things that I never in a million years would’ve thought I wanted.” I looked into the fire, feeling too uncertain to look at him. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to avoid trouble because my father told me I attracted it. That has always stuck with me, what he said. That I’d bring trouble to my family, myself and the man unlucky enough to fall in love with me.”