Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 56
Honey
Awild, voracious storm burns in his eyes as he stares at me. Admiration and surprise. I’ve never been a sweet thing. Maybe on the outside, but on the inside, I’ve always been able to look after myself, and they would have known that had I been let a little off my leash.
“Family is everything, and to defy the head deplorable.” Those words were ingrained into us as small children.
That is, of course, until my father points a gun at the man I love.
Before I can react, Dawson shoves me back and raises his own gun.
“Papa!” I scream. There’s a wild, fierce creature who wants to claw her way out of me. I suddenly understand everything that Dawson’s gaze expresses to me without words. “Papa!” I scream again, and my voice doesn’t even sound like my own.
Dawson raises his hand to me. “Stay back, Honey.”
“You actually have the nerve to raise a gun at me, you little fucker?” my father sneers.
No, not my father.
The man people fear.
He steps out into the alley, two of his guards following with their guns raised.
My mother shouts at him from behind, but he doesn’t hear her. Or me. I’m scared that if I move, my father will pull the trigger. But I’m scared if I don’t stand in front of Dawson, he will do so as well.
Dawson offers a half smile before throwing his gun to the side in the opposite direction of me. Probably because he knows I’ll raise it against my own father.
“You put my daughter in danger,” my father snarls.
“I love your daughter,” Dawson yells. “And I would do anything to protect her.” My father steps up to him, pressing the edge of the gun to his head.
“Papa, no, please,” I beg. My voice is hoarse, my legs shaky. “Please, Papa. Please.”
All of my worst nightmares are coming to fruition.
My father is going to kill my first love.
“Not that your daughter needs protecting,” Dawson adds, suddenly calm as he looks at me with a small smile. Tears stream down my face, and I can’t look away. “But I agree that she shouldn’t be following strange men into alleyways.”
Is he fucking joking? How could he make light of this situation? But it is one of the reasons I love him.
I feel my father’s gaze bouncing between us. I don’t want to look away from Dawson, but I must look at the other man I love. The one who finally has to let me go.
I turn to my father. “Please, Papa,” I beg. “He’s a good man.”
My father’s gaze is ruthless. This side of him has never been pointed toward me, but I will not back down. This time, I fight.
The rage slowly leaves his eyes as he lowers his gun.
“He’s a fucking American,” my father says, disappointed.
My breath comes out shaky as I run to Dawson. My need to touch, kiss, and claim him again is a very serious thing.
He claims me equally.
Desperately and unapologetically.
We stay like that for several moments before Rya’s voice echoes in the alley, “What the actual fuck? We come back from our honeymoon for… what exactly is this?”
“A clean-up job,” Crue says as he pushes past my father and looks at the dead man on the ground. “You gave me the wrong address,” he says to Dawson.
“Things changed.” Dawson shrugs.
“And how the fuck do you think you’re going to cover up this one?” Rya asks with hands on hips.
Crue looks at her, almost confused. “Well, firstly, I own this restaurant and everyone who works here, and secondly, it turns out I have a sexy criminal lawyer for a wife as backup.”
She chokes out a laugh. “Backup?” And I can tell honeymoon sex has come to an end.
I can’t help but laugh as the atmosphere of today’s events lightens. The very world I had been ignorant of, yet still a part of, crashed into Dawson’s world.
Men stride into the alley and efficiently wrap the body.
I watch them, my head resting on Dawson’s shoulder. He’s observing them carefully, his expression hard. His polished mask is firmly back in place.
My father approaches us, and I freeze, unsure if he’s reconsidered what he most likely thinks of as his “generosity.”
“I don’t know how you Americans do it, but we usually prefer our killings a little less obvious.”
Rya gives a pointed look at our father because the truth is, Crue is anything but discreet. He point-blank shot Rya’s boss at her thirtieth birthday party in a room full of people.
“I’ll keep it in mind, Mr. Ricci,” Dawson says with his arm around my waist.
My father harrumphs at him. “But if you look after my daughter, you do it right. Traditionally.”
My heart floods at his approval.
Finally.
I jump at my father, my hug surprising him. “Thank you, Papa.”
“I still don’t like him. Pretty Boy,” he mumbles, but I can tell his opinion of Dawson has changed. I let go of Father and take my rightful place beside Dawson.