Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
There was no longer a hand at my hip. His fingers were undoing my jeans.
“I need to take you back.”
I squeezed my eyes shut as he pulled off my clothes.
SWISS
I was drunk.
Or at least I should’ve been drunk considering how much whisky I’d consumed. But the image of her was still sharp in my mind. My sober fucking mind. Her face as she retreated back from me. In fear.
Real fear.
Not fear that was born in that moment, in reaction to the man I’d turned into in the face of her betrayal. No, that fear was older. A conditioned response. Ingrained in her.
Over years.
That fear had been living inside of her for years.
And that voice... I could barely fucking hear her. When she spoke, I watched her deflate.
Something drained out of her. Before my very eyes.
No. That wasn’t when she’d deflated. It had started the second that asshole walked in the door. I hadn’t noticed at first. It wasn’t as stark at first because she was standing beside me. Because she believed she was mine. She believed she wasn’t going anywhere. That she was safe with me.
She’d been brave. Despite the terror that washed over her. She’d felt strong enough by my side to say that shit. And then, when I showed her that she was alone, she deflated.
My mind spun, thinking of all the little shit that had piled up. Shit that had bothered me but that I hadn’t connected the dots on. The way she was surprised, fucking shocked at me doing simple things like thanking her, helping her with the dishes. The way she always apologized for shit that didn’t require an apology. The way she spoke about herself. Constantly criticized herself.
Her running down the road in the middle of the night like she was running for her fucking life.
Everything clicked. Everything that should’ve come together much fucking sooner.
“Fuck!” I roared.
My bottle exploded against the wall.
Hansen barely blinked even though it happened just as he walked into the room, missing his head by inches.
“You liked her, I gather,” he commented dryly.
His casual stance sparked more fury in me. “We need to go and get her,” I bit out.
He blinked at my tone and the look on my face, then he smirked. He was used to outbursts from me, so he didn’t distinguish how this one was different.
He did not see the fire in me, the panic that was acid in my veins.
“Of course, you need to go get her,” he agreed. “We placed bets on how long it would take you to get out of your own way and hop on that bike and find her.” He jerked his head to Hades. “Somehow this fucker won. A romantic… Who would’ve thought?”
I stepped forward, clutching the sides of his cut and yanking him toward me. All teasing left his eyes.
Finally, he saw how close to the edge I was.
Now I’d gotten his attention.
And the rest of the brothers in the room, who had seen a lot of shit from me, but they’d never seen me lay hands on a president.
I knew all of them were preparing to take me down. I was well aware of the protocol if I truly lost my shit.
Hades would be the one to do it. I knew that. Had known it since I patched into this charter. Appreciated it. Liked knowing where my exits were if I should need them.
Not that I wanted to die. Fuck no. I enjoyed being alive. Most of the time.
But there was something inside of me I couldn’t always control, something looking to burn the world down with me inside of it.
But right now, I had iron clad control over that shit. And I very much needed to be alive.
“You don’t get it,” I gritted out. “We need to get her, and we need to kill that mother fuckin’ husband.”
Hansen’s eyes darted behind me, and he shook his head, probably telling Hades not to pull me off him just yet. “Okay, brother,” he patted my back. “We’ll go get her.”
I squeezed his cut once more before I let him go.
My chest itched.
“Promise me you won’t look at it until… just until I say.”
That had confused me. Worried me. The way her voice was so small, hesitant. I’d wrongly thought it was ’cause she didn’t like the violence of it. Which was wrong… I’d seen the way she’d come alive holding that knife.
But I’d been too mad with need to think too hard on it. Too hungry to fuck her with her brand on my chest.
Brothers scattered as I damn near sprinted to the closest bathroom, ripping off the bandage I’d worn for the past few days—before then, I hadn’t looked. Kate had changed the bandage, cleaned it for me, and I’d kept my promise—to stare at the angry red letters on my chest.