Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
My lips move to smile, and I cringe at the sting. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry.”
Ciara moves closer and comes to crouch beside the plush armchair I’m curled up on. Her eyes meet mine, then she says, “Thanks for shoving me into the shrubs.”
“Of course.” I lift my hand and brush my fingers through her silky, soft hair. “I’ll always protect you.”
She leans her cheek into my palm, her eyes misting up. “I’m so lucky to have you. I just wish I could do more for you.”
Even though it aches, I let a soft smile tug at my lips. “You love me, and that’s all I need.”
Ciara’s my entire life. I’d die for her.
“Sorry to interrupt. Your father asks that you join him in the living room,” Maeve, our housekeeper, says from the open door.
I let out a groan when Maeve leaves to return to her work. She’s only been with us a month after our last housekeeper retired.
When I move to get up from the chair, Ciara asks, “Need help?”
“No. I’m good.”
My body aches all over as I walk to the doorway, and for the hundredth time, Ciara says, “I’m sorry about what happened.”
“It’s not your fault,” I mutter, anger toward Dad bubbling in my chest.
Twice now, he’s placed me in a position where I got hurt.
“It must’ve been so scary.” Ciara wraps her arm around my lower back and gives me a gentle sideways hug. “I’m just glad you’re home and you didn’t get hurt too badly.”
It’s never too bad. Not physically, anyway.
But psychologically, I’ve been knocked off my feet more times than I can count.
Flashes of my dress being torn and the fear of being raped shoot through me. I stop walking and pressing my palm against my stomach, I suck in deep breaths.
“You okay?” Ciara asks.
I nod while fighting the memories back.
You survived. It’s all that matters.
Panic bleeds from the memories, threatening to overwhelm me.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
“Come,” Ciara says. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can climb into bed and rest.”
True.
My feet feel heavy as I force them to move, and I focus on regaining control over my emotions so they don’t drag me into a dark pit.
As we near the living room, I hear Dad say, “It’s a good day.”
A good day, my butt. All I want to do is curl up on the armchair by my window and process the crap I was forced to endure.
Even though I feel like shit, I lift my chin and school my features before we enter the room.
When Ciara and I notice a man standing with Dad near the fireplace, we both come to a stop at the same time.
The man’s tattoos and demeanor scream mafia, which makes me frown because Dad’s never brought home anyone from the mafia. He always meets them elsewhere.
Although I won’t stand a chance in a fight, I still move slightly in front of Ciara as I stare at the stranger.
There’s a word tattooed on his right cheekbone that I can’t make out and an X and broken heart beneath his left eye.
Ink also covers his neck and hands, but unless I move closer, I can’t make out the tattoos.
Not even a minute passes in which I take in everything about the man. The dark blue suit makes the blue of his eyes pop, and he has short and super neat dirty blond hair.
His appearance is immaculate, which makes me feel like I’ve just crawled out of the laundry basket. The sweatpants, old T-shirt, socks, and fresh bruises covering my face aren’t exactly my best look.
My gaze locks on his eyes again, and I feel something stir in my gut.
Ice blue.
My lips part as my gaze lowers to the tattoo on his cheekbone.
Is he the man who rescued me last night?
For a moment, our eyes remain locked, but then Dad draws my attention away when he says, “Come closer, girls.”
I blindly reach for Ciara’s hand and push her toward the couch that’s farthest away from our guest.
Dad gives me a look of warning as he says, “Stop being so overprotective, Grace.”
Never!
While Ciara takes a seat, I remain standing beside her, my eyes moving between our guest and Dad.
Our very attractive guest.
It’s actually distracting how good-looking he is, but where other women may swoon, it leaves me cold inside.
Braden made sure I’d hate men for the rest of my life.
Dad gestures at our guest. “This is Dominik Varga.”
‘I’m good as dead if I supply the missiles to you. It’s Varga’s territory.’
Dad’s words echo through me, and as I look at Dominik Varga again, I see more than just the tattoos and good looks.
I see the danger in his eyes that stare at me as if I’m nothing but an annoying fly buzzing around the room.
Fear slithers down my spine, and my muscles tense as I frown at Dad. “You’ve never brought work home before.”