Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
I can’t hold back the sensitivity splintering through me when I recall how he grabbed my face and forced me to look at him when I came. He hid his scars from everyone, but that night, he let me see them.
I climax with a silent moan, the soundless thrashing arriving with a handful of tears. My heart and body are torn. They’re at war with each other, and the person they’re fighting over is dead.
It is a ridiculous fight, but one I can’t control.
“Katie.” I kick up the covers and scamper beneath them when Grayson calls my name a second before he enters my room. Alek knocked. Grayson hasn’t learned that politeness yet. “You up? I wanted to show you something.” He flicks on the light, then stops partway to my bed, his brows lost in his generous hairline. There’s no way he has the balding gene. “You all right?”
“Yes,” I lie. “I was just a little tired, so I thought I’d have a sleep-in.” I look at the windows, grimacing when I notice it is still dark out. “What time is it?”
“Around five.”
“Five in the morning?” Surely, I must have heard him wrong.
I didn’t. “You can’t catch the worms if you’re not up before the sparrows.” I stare at him strangely when he shifts his focus to the camera in the corner of my room I forgot about when my libido convinced me it was too dark to see anything.
After staring at it for what feels like an eternity, he finally shifts his focus back to me. “Can you tell me how many men in this picture you recognize?”
He hands me a glossy photograph with multiple headshots spread across it. They look like mugshots, but they’re minus the mugshot board.
Needing to keep the field even, I ask, “What do I get for my participation in your event?”
Grayson scrubs a hand across his face, hopeful it will hide his smile, before he replies, “How about I wipe whatever you were doing from the servers before he sees it?” He doesn’t need to say Kirill’s name for me to know who he is referencing, and I don’t need additional information as to what event he’s referencing.
He looks back at the camera when I mutter, “Sounds fair.”
Too embarrassed to look at him and unwilling to leave my bed since I am minus any panties, I scan the image. There are several familiar faces, but I don’t point out the obvious. Grayson already knows who they are since his presence agitates them to no end.
“That’s Vladimir, although he’s aged a lot since I saw him.”
I peer up at Grayson when he asks, “How long ago?”
“Five or so years.”
I wonder just how deep his research goes when he asks, “So the Popovs didn’t kidnap you?”
“Um…” I’m truly unsure how to answer. “They were Russian, but I don’t believe they were the Popovs.” Kirill said he organized for someone named Sergei to abduct me but that Colum got into his head and changed their plan, and although I trust Grayson, it isn’t reliable enough to share that with him just yet.
Grayson nods, knowing I’m holding back but not going to push me. “What about anyone else? Do you recognize anyone else?”
“That’s Colum, Mr. Watermelon Head.” He’s amused by my comment but doesn’t respond with anything but a smile. “I think he was at the auction.” I stop breathing when my eyes land on a face I will never forget. Ghost’s face only has the original scar he had at the auction, although it is barely seen since his head is angled. “That’s Ghost.”
“Ghost?” Grayson checks, shocked.
I jerk up my chin. “Kirill’s brother.” I brush away the blob on my cheek before he can see it. “If you will excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.”
Forgetting I am without underwear, I scoot off my bed and make a beeline to the bathroom.
Mercifully, Grayson is gone when I exit thirty minutes later.
52
KATIE
My stomach is squashed into the buffet table when Kirill sneaks up on me unaware. His breath reeks of alcohol, but his attitude is the most pungent of them all. “Why the fuck are people asking questions about Ghost?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
The orange juice in my hand wobbles when he grips my face to forcefully make me look at Grayson, who is in conversation across the room, oblivious to Kirill’s rough handling. “He wanted to talk to me about Ghost.” The juice splatters on the pristine white tablecloth and soaks into my dress when he snarls, “Not a fucking ghost. Ghost, a person.” He stares me dead set in the eyes. “How could he know about him if you didn’t tell him?”
Lying will get me nowhere, so I go for the truth. “I didn’t know we were meant to keep his existence a secret.”
“Existence?” He mocks me with laughter. “He would have to exist to keep his existence a secret.” He pushes me forward by my face, moving the table forcefully enough for others to pay attention. “You really should be more careful with what you’re doing.” His smile is as fake as they come. “You’ve gotten juice on your dress.” He dabs at the blobs he caused with a napkin before saying with a false frown. “Go upstairs and change. I’ll send someone from housekeeping to fetch it for dry cleaning.” He uses my tears to his advantage. “Don’t cry, my love. It is just a little bit of spilled juice. It’s not hurting anyone.”