Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I know, and yet I can do nothing. The air around me is suffocating as I sit there silently, remembering how easily some of them have killed before, how I’ve wished that those men would die so many times. But not all of them. Not my family. Not Nikolai.
Inside I scream at myself to beg for answers, to beg for mercy. But on the surface I stay calm and wait for Romano to leave. There has to be a way for me to spare some of the people I love. The only people I love. The only family I have.
Please, show mercy. I nearly whisper the words as Carter leaves me yet again, walking Romano to the door and leaving me lonely and pathetic on the floor of the kitchen.
I don’t make a sound. I stay silent.
But I will beg. I will fight. I will do anything. I won’t let them kill my family.
There has to be a way.
If he cares anything for me, he’ll show mercy. My gaze drops to the shadows of the two of them in the hall. The saddest part of the last thought is that I already know he won’t show mercy. I’m only his whore.
Chapter 23
Carter
* * *
The fire crackles. I’ve always found comfort in the soothing sound. My songbird’s humming is the only thing that’s come close and whether or not she knows it, she’s been humming every so often since I left her in the den.
Gripping the back of the tufted sofa, I watch the glow of the fire play across her face. The shadows only make her look more beautiful. Even though she’s drawing near the hearth, she hasn’t turned on the lights. The sun set hours ago, taking the daylight that filled this room with it. But she’s stayed by the fire, consumed with her art.
“Aria.” I attempt to keep my voice calm and gentle, so I don’t startle her. But I achieve the opposite and the black charcoal in her hand leaves a mar across the center of the piece she’s drawing. Surprise and fear are evident from her parted lips but she shifts her expression quickly, leaving her pad and the charcoal on the hearth to kneel for me.
She doesn’t address me any other way, simply waiting for a command. Her submission is beautiful, but there’s a twisting in my gut. She’s faking it. It’s only because of yesterday. She’s only being good because I caught her searching through my room. She doesn’t fool me.
“You did well this morning,” I compliment her as I round the large sofa. Her eyes watch me; they watch every movement I make.
As much as I see her, I know she sees me. It’s one of the things that’s pulling me to her every second of every day.
I don’t want to miss the little hints of honesty that she can’t hide from me.
“I don’t like that man,” she says under her breath, daring to raise her eyes to me. “Romano.” A grin pulls at my lips. “I couldn’t tell,” I say, toying with her.
She did perfectly. Submitting to me and showing him how I have her under my thumb. That I’ve gained control of her, even when she couldn’t contain her contempt for him.
She’s helping me set him up for his own demise, and she doesn’t even know it.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask her as I sink into the sofa, relaxing against it as she nods once and then whispers, “Yes.”
“Come here.” I pat the seat next to me and watch her debate on whether she should crawl or stand to get here. Glancing at her right hand, covered in charcoal, she chooses to stand and reach for the towel on the coffee table. She’s deliberate in her motions as she quickly cleans her hands and then walks quietly to sit beside me. Only the crackling of the fire occupies the silence.
As she sits, I slip my arm around her waist, pulling her closer, lowering my lips to her ear then nipping her lobe before moving to her neck.
When I’m touching her, she knows exactly how to behave. She loses that constant inner questioning and gives herself to me completely. Letting her breathing quicken and her head fall to the side. She can’t hide from me when my hands are on her.
It’s a heady feeling I’ve grown addicted to.
I imagine she doesn’t realize how often she touches me. Like now, how she reaches out to my shoulder as I rake my teeth up and down her neck.
Nipping her ear once more and feeling the thrill of her ragged moans deep in my chest, I whisper to her, “I want the man dead.”
Her lashes flutter open and as they do, Jase enters the doorway. He hesitates and nearly turns around, but I gesture for him to enter. Time and time again, she seizes up when another person is added to the equation. She forgets how to react and becomes a lost little bird with a broken wing. Stiff in my embrace, she struggles to know where to look as Jase enters.