Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
In moments, she had crossed the length of the company's vast marbled lobby and introduced herself to the fierce-looking security personnel as Gareth Evans' secretary. It was name-dropping at its most shameless, but needs must, and Pippi's discomfort was slightly alleviated when the ploy worked. The two men reluctantly stepped back and Pippi finally had a private moment to address the woman.
"Are you okay?"
"I've had worse." The brunette was gingerly rubbing her wrists, and Pippi was aghast to see red circles marking the woman's skin.
"I'm so sorry for this, Miss—-"
"Amelia."
No last name, Pippi couldn't help thinking even as she gave the woman a reassuring smile. "Amelia then." She chose her words with care afterwards, asking, "Would you mind telling me what you and security were arguing about?"
"That wasn't arguing," the woman retorted. "That was plain fucking bullying, and they'll see, once they find out who I am—-"
"Which is Amelia?" Pippi was starting to wonder if the woman might just be a wee bit unhinged.
"Yes, I'm that—-" The woman's tone was impatient. "But that's not it."
Pippi was having a hard time catching up. "You're not Amelia?"
"I'm saying I'm Acheron Simonides' girlfriend, and they don't fucking believe me! They say he's not receiving visitors, but I know—-" Amelia lifted her chin, saying aggressively, "He'll talk to me, okay? He just has to know it's me."
"I see."
"Then can you get me in?"
"I...might." Without letting herself think, Pippi pulled her phone out of her bag, all the while despising the way her fingers shook. Wickham had given her his number earlier, when everything was still...fine.
Wickham's phone only rang once before his familiar gruff voice came down the line. "Good afternoon, Ms. Jones."
"I'm here at the lobby with a woman named Amelia—-"
"Amy?"
"And she says she's Mr. Simonides' girlfriend."
"Ah...ah..."
The fluster in Wickham's voice was all she needed to hear, and it felt like having the ground under her disappear. "She's very distraught, Mr. Wickham, and she would like to see Mr. Simonides as soon as possible."
"We'll be right down, Ms. Jones. And—-"
"Thank you, Mr. Wickham." She ended the call, not wanting to hear any of the factotum's no doubt well-meaning but pointless excuses.
"Was that Wick?" Amelia asked eagerly as soon as Pippi looked at her.
"It is." And even as her world continued to crash around her, Pippi managed to say kindly, "Mr. Wickham says they'll be right down with you." And she needed to leave before that happened. "Is it alright if I leave you now?"
"I...guess. What's your name again?"
Pippi pretended not to hear this, saying, "I'm just glad to be of help." She turned to leave, but she had only managed several steps when she heard people gasping, and Pippi knew right away what it meant.
Acheron.
Her mind begged her to just keep walking, but she couldn't help it. She turned, her heart beating faster and faster, and when her gaze finally found them, it was exactly what she expected, and pain once again started ripping her heart into pieces.
Amelia in his arms, sobbing against his chest, and not once did Acheron even realize that Pippi was watching them the entire time.
Seventeen
ACHERON WAS NURSING a half-empty glass of room-temperature brandy in his hand when Wickham came out of the guest bedroom, followed by Dr. Alistair Mortensen, whose looks and build often had people asking him if he had Vikings in his family tree.
"What's the prognosis?" Acheron asked as his long-time friend joined him at his private bar.
"Dehydration, and while I'll need tests for actual confirmation, I suspect drug use in the past forty-eight hours." Track marks - and their location - could say a lot about a person's habits, when one knew what to look for.
Acheron knew a 'but' tone when he heard one, and his lips tightened. "There's something else, isn't it?"
"I also believe she's a victim of physical abuse, most likely domestic." Alistair paused. "But you and Wickham are already aware of this, aren't you?"
"The three of us belonged to the same...family when we were young."
"No need to pussyfoot on my account, Wick." Glancing at his friend, Acheron said evenly, "She was already the big man's mistress when Wick and I were recruited. Had been so since she was thirteen."
Alistair bit out an expletive.
The Greek billionaire inclined his head. "My sentiments exactly."
"If not for Amy's interference," Wick said heavily, "we might never have been able to leave the gang at all."
"But she didn't go with you," Alistair surmised.
"It's too late for her." It was always the excuse Amelia gave Acheron every damn time he tried to convince her to start a new life, and his voice held a bitter edge as he repeated the words for his friend.
Listening to Acheron's story, Alistair started remembering some of the oldest conversations he had with his friend, and he drew his breath when the truth eventually dawned on him. "It's her, isn't it?" he asked in surprise. "Amy is Amelia. The great love from your past that you used to talk about whenever you're trousered."