Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Ready to give up?
“Please don’t.” I reach for her, taking advantage of her unconscious state. She won’t let me touch her when she’s awake. I realize she’s afraid everything will vanish with the coming together of our bodies, all of our hurt and troubles. How can I convince her it’s what we both need? “I love you,” I whisper, my voice thick.
She stirs, and I gulp back the hope that those words brought her round. That she heard them. Is responding to them. She sits up, rubbing at her sleepy eyes, and then finds me before her. Kneeling. A slave.
My hand takes on a mind of its own and pushes a strand of hair from her eyes. “Hey,” I say quietly. Will she let me take her to bed? Just to cuddle? Just to keep the demons at bay?
“What time is it?”
“Just gone midnight,” I say as I lift a little and push my lips into her forehead, inhaling every bit of her into me. She allows it. She allows me to kiss her, and just as I’m about to gently coax her into my arms, my mobile rings, stopping me.
There is only one reason I’d get a call at this time, and it’s pushed the building contentment away. “For fuck’s sake,” I mumble under my breath, grabbing my phone. “John,” I breathe, bracing myself, knowing it’ll be serious for him to call me at this low point in my life.
“We need you here.”
My muscles lengthen everywhere, making me taller in an instant. “Why?”
“Immigration enforcement. They’ll only talk to the owner,” he says, as I flick a cautious look Ava’s way. “I’ve told them you’ve been signed off by your doctor but—”
“No, it’s fine.” I can feel the tension creeping back into me, and I desperately don’t want Ava to see that. She hates The Manor. Right now, I hate The Manor too.
“You sure?” John asks.
“Yeah, give me half an hour.” I disconnect and search for where I kicked off my shoes earlier, locating them at the end of the couch. I head over and stuff my feet into them, feeling Ava watching my every move.
“What’s the matter?” she asks with obvious worry in her tone. I can’t look at her. Can’t allow her to see the unrestrained rage building. The police. The Manor. Things in my way.
“Problem at The Manor,” I say, heading for the door. “I won’t be long.” As soon as I’m in the elevator, I fall against the wall. “Fuck,” I hiss, catching sight of myself in the mirror when the doors close.
I look gray. Empty.
Old.
I turn away from my reflection and stare at the wall until the doors open, and I pace to my car with my head down. “Mr. Ward,” Clive calls, but I ignore him. I have no faith that I can be polite. I’ve not even moved forward and I’m already taking backward steps.
I slip into my car and start her up, taking the wheel and hissing. “Fuck,” I breathe, my throbbing hand protesting. I shouldn’t be driving. I gingerly flex it for a few moments and pull off fast, stress and frustration making my foot heavy on the pedal.
Nothing’s changed there.
* * *
The circular driveway is heaving when I pull up. Members leaving. “Fucking hell,” I breathe, swinging into a space by a white Mercedes van. I get out and spot Sam on the steps with Kate, and Drew emerging from the entrance, fastening his tie. No Victoria? Drew spots me and gives me a quick assessment. He must conclude I’m okay because he launches into a rant. “Great for business,” he snaps, pulling and yanking at the material around his neck.
“Where’s Victoria?”
He scowls. Obviously that’s a sore subject. “What the fuck’s going on?”
Kate sees me approaching, and her cheeks soon match the color of her hair. If I was in the mood, I’d smile. “Hey,” she says, nowhere near her usual fiery self. “You look—”
“Like a bag of shit, I know.” I exhale, coming to a stop, watching people leaving on mass.
“How are . . . things?” she asks, almost cautious.
I look at her tiredly. “Amazing.”
She smiles, and it’s small. “Give it time.” She rubs at my arm. “She’ll come round.”
“She will?”
“Sure. I still love your crazy arse, so Ava has to.”
I look at Kate. She doesn’t look convinced. “Where are they?” I ask, walking on and entering the foyer.
“Bar,” Sam answers, wary as fuck. “You okay?”
“Fucking ace,” I mutter, arriving in the bar, where an army of men and women in uniforms are congregated. “Jesse Ward,” I declare, and they all turn my way. I’m trying my fucking hardest not to be hostile. Trying and failing. What the fuck are they doing here?
A man approaches. “Kev Baxter,” he declares. “Chief Immigration Officer.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“That was a rhetorical question.”
“Right,” he says. “Perhaps only ask me serious questions going forward, yes? Since this is a serious situation.”