Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Cold?” He picks up the blanket at the foot of the bed.
“I’m fine,” I say, shaking my head. Clearing it. “Why did you do it?”
“Why did I do what?”
“Jump into the water after me.”
“The alternative would mean you drowned,” he says like he’s confused by the question.
I know. I’ve come close to death more times than I care to remember but this one, it feels closer. More real.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He studies me, big and silent. “I wasn’t going to let you drown, Scarlett.”
“You could have had him.”
“The cost was too high.”
“I—”
“I wasn’t going to let you die. Period. Is that so hard to understand?”
It is.
“Besides, I’ll find him again. I’m not worried about that.”
I nod and silence falls again for a long minute. I feel him close by. Feel his eyes on me. I can’t look at him just yet though. “I’m not a whore.” I don’t know why I care if he thinks I am, but I do.
“No, you’re not. I know that.”
I look up at him. “Why did you accuse me of being one then?”
“I expected…” he shakes his head, gaze shifting away from me, forehead wrinkling. “No, that doesn’t matter.” He looks back at me. “I heard what you said. Finally.”
“What did I say?”
“It won’t hurt as much.”
I’m surprised. I guess I don’t expect to hear that. I remember the words. My words. Did I expect him to understand their meaning? Did I want him to? Why say it otherwise?
I shift my gaze away from him feeling suddenly too hot.
“Did he hurt you? Before, I mean? Did Rinaldi—”
I snap my gaze back to his. “Rinaldi didn’t touch me. Not like that.”
Cristiano looks confused. “Then—”
“He made me watch him hurt others, but not me,” I cut him off before he can ask the question I know he wants to ask. If not Rinaldi, then who? That’s what he wants to know.
I remember my uncle then. Shot. Dead. The bullet an utter surprise from the look on his face. I don’t feel anything at the memory. Not afraid. Not upset. Not relieved.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” I ask.
Again, I see confusion.
“I mean I don’t get upset…It doesn’t bother me.”
“What doesn’t bother you?”
“I watched my uncle kill my brothers. I watched Marcus kill him in turn. And I can’t tell you how many other murders I’ve seen. I don’t get upset anymore. I’m not even sure I get scared. I don’t feel anything when I see it. Even when I feel their blood splatter my skin, I feel nothing. Not an accelerated heartbeat. Not fear. Not upset. Nothing. I just…stand there and watch.”
Grunt. He takes my coffee mug and sets it down.
I wipe a lone tear, looking down as I process. “Maybe I’m more like them than I think.” A monster.
“They were bad men, Scarlett. I know monsters and you are not one. Not even close.”
“I’m not so sure, Cristiano.”
“Listen, you have many, many things wrong with you, but this isn’t one of them.”
His comment catches me off guard and when I look up at him, I see a corner of his mouth twitch and his eyes are bright. Opposite how dark they were on the boat. He winks and his smile stretches wide.
“Jerk.”
He shrugs as if saying ‘if the shoe fits’. I push the blanket off and it takes me a good minute to process the pain as I swing my legs too quickly off the bed.
“What are you doing? You need to stay in bed.”
“I need to pee.”
From the expression on his face, he’s surprised I’d have this human need, but then he nods. Looking like he’s on a mission, he puts his coffee cup down and bends toward me. He slides his arms underneath me to lift me up.
“Whoa.” I hold up a hand. “I draw the line at you taking me to the bathroom.”
“You could fall.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s literally two steps away.”
“Marcus did that? Put those marks on you?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“But it was him?”
I nod.
“I’ll punish him for it,” he says after a long moment.
I give him a weak smile and he steps aside, giving me some space.
I put my hand on the nightstand, just in case, before getting to my feet and making my way to the bathroom. I’m slow, each step painful, but nothing I can’t handle. When I get to the bathroom and close the door, the first thing I do is look at my reflection. I want to see how bad it is. And it’s bad. There are a couple of bruises on my face but most of the damage is down my front. The marks of Marcus’s belt. My wrists are raw, too, but I remind myself that it’s nothing compared to what could be happening to the other women right now.
I need to talk to Cristiano about that. Need to figure out a way to help them.