Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
There won't be any for them either. They don't fucking deserve it.
"I don't want them to hurt you," she cries, pushing her body so close to mine it's as if she's trying to fuse us into one being. "Please."
"Angel." I disentangle her arms from around me, guiding her with a firm hand beneath her jaw until she's looking up at me. Even though her honey eyes are red-rimmed and filled with pain, her face ravaged by tears, she's beautiful. Something I know I'll protect at all costs, against any threat. "You're mine now," I promise her, brushing tears from her cheeks. "No one is going to hurt me. And no one will ever hurt you again, either. I'll kill anyone who tries. Understand?"
She takes a shuddering breath, her chest heaving and that full bottom lip quivering, and then she nods.
I press my lips to her forehead, both eyes, and her cheeks before touching my mouth to hers in a soft kiss. "You're safe now, little bunny. With me, you will always be safe."
She nods again and then rests her head against mine. I hold her, rubbing her back until the water begins to cool. I reluctantly release her and wash up quickly before turning it off and running a towel over my body. Once I'm more or less dry, I wrap her in a fluffy towel and carry her back into the bedroom.
"Can I have a hoodie instead?" she asks when I start to dress her in one of my T-shirts. "I'm cold."
"You can have whatever you want." I grab one of my UCLA hoodies from the drawer and help her pull it on over her head. It swallows her. Something settles inside my chest, warming me at the sight of her in my hoodie. "I like seeing you in my clothes," I mutter, pulling on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt to hide my quickly growing erection. "You can wear my hoodies anytime, angel."
"Did you go to UCLA?" she asks, watching me as I slide a pair of socks on her feet, stopping to kiss the knot on top of her right foot.
I hate that her mother and the Bratva left physical reminders of their torment all over her body. Not because the scars make her any less than perfect but because she shouldn't have to spend the rest of her life remembering how she got each and every mark. One way or another, I'm going to make sure Tarasova and his men pay for everything they did to her.
"I did," I murmur, climbing to my feet to pull her back into my arms. Once she locks her arms around my neck, I carry her to the kitchen. She doesn't complain or ask me to put her down, which I love. She feels good in my arms, like that's where she's supposed to be. I reluctantly hit the lights and set her on the counter.
Her face scrunches up again like she's thinking. "What did you study?"
"Criminal Justice. What do you want to eat, conejita?" I pull the fridge open and peek inside.
"I don't care."
"Angel."
She huffs at me, which makes me smile again. She's cute when she's annoyed. I love that she doesn't hesitate to let me know when I'm pissing her off. The fact that she feels safe enough with me to be herself makes me feel like a king.
"Can I have toast with peanut butter and bananas?" she asks.
I grab the milk out of the fridge and set it beside her before grabbing the peanut butter, bread, and bananas out of the pantry. "Have you thought about what you want to do when all of this is over?" I ask, slicing bananas to put on her toast. "You want to go to college?"
"I'd have to get my GED first."
"We can make that happen."
She shifts around but doesn't say anything.
I glance up to find her frowning, her expression uneasy. "What's wrong?"
"Maybe I shouldn't make plans yet," she whispers.
I set the knife down and step in front of her, forcing her to look at me. "They're not getting you back, Faith. There's not a chance in hell I'll let them take you back there."
"I don't know where I'll be once they stop looking for me." Her lip quirks into a sad smile, her gaze sliding away from mine.
My first instinct is to tell her that she'll be here with me, but I stop myself. I keep telling myself that I can’t let her go, that I’ll cage her to keep her, but…if freedom is what she really wants, can I really force her to stay?
The answer to that question fucking kills me, but it’s the only answer. If giving her what she wants means letting her leave me…it'll kill me, but I'll do it. She comes first now. I think maybe she has since the day she flung herself into my arms and let me hold her while she broke down. I don't know how I'm supposed to let her go. I won’t survive it. But if it’s what she wants…I’ll let her go with a goddamn smile on my face. I have no choice.