Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
For all I know, she’s dead in her bed.
That would probably make my life easier.
But then I couldn’t use her to get what I need from Boris.
The truth is, that’s fine by me.
There are other ways.
I’m not sold that the plan to use her as bait is the way to go anyway.
Z keeps saying she’s a means to an end, but for some reason, it doesn’t sit well with me.
It’s because I want to fuck her.
Maybe if I did . . .
Nope.
Not going there.
Trent’s words about Boris are still too clear in my head. In order for that to ever happen, she would need to beg for me to take her.
I’m a lot of things, but rapist, is not one of them.
Today will be a fast trip to the island. Maxwell will wait offshore for me to do what I need to do.
Then I’m off to a meeting with my client Alaric; we need to discuss his acquisition of a new territory for the distribution of arms.
First, though, to check on Ivy.
Metal key in hand, plus a bag that Z filled with God knows what, but knowing him, a bomb, I step into the house set on my private island.
To think, this place was once a summer getaway for my family.
Then it housed all kinds of shady deals.
Now, it holds a captive hostage. Life has gone full circle.
Moving farther into the space, I find the house quiet. She must be in her room. Then I hear a noise coming from the far side of the house.
Cerberus?
Or is it her?
She wouldn’t go in there, would she?
The muscles in my back tighten as I drop the bag and head toward the greenhouse.
A part of my house she shouldn’t have access to.
It should have been locked.
Turning the corner, I take slow, measured steps through the kitchen to the door that isn’t locked at all. It’s wide open, but I don’t want to alert her of my presence if it is her.
Standing in the doorframe, I see her kneeling over a pot in the corner. She doesn’t notice me as I watch her for a minute. The sun that beams in through the glass ceiling illuminates her blond hair, casting a glow.
Like an angel.
So different from the last one to garden here.
The anger I had tried to tamp down from her being here rises to the surface.
Simmering as I watch her touch something that doesn’t belong to her without a care in the world.
She’s alone in this house. What else was there for her to do?
Not break into a greenhouse that was clearly locked.
“What are you doing in here?” I scoff, entering. She shouldn’t be here. No one should. No one has in a long time.
Years.
By the looks of the space, it’s obvious, except . . .
Around where Ivy is are newly planted pots. It looks clean and put together, as if she has worked countless hours to tidy and tend to it.
It makes my blood boil. This isn’t her dirt to sow.
Soon, I’m towering over her. I need to rein in my emotions because if I don’t pull myself together, I’ll be no better than the monster I’m hiding her from.
“Leave this room.” My voice comes out harsher than I intend, and from where I’m standing, I can see her body go tense.
“No,” she fires back, and I want to applaud her for schooling her features. She’s a good actress. I can tell she’s frightened of me, but she won’t give me the satisfaction of showing it.
I reach for where she is kneeling to grab her by her shoulders, but she sees what I’m doing before I connect and moves back while still kneeling.
“Don’t touch me,” she hisses as if I’m going to rape her in this place. As if I would tarnish what happy memories I have left with her presence.
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
“Sure,” she mumbles under her breath.
“I don’t need to touch you.” Our bodies are still close, and once she stands to her full height, she’s even closer. I’m close enough to see the ring of her irises, and the bright flecks staring back at me.
“What do you want from me?” she asks.
“All in good time,” I divert.
I’m not sure why I don’t tell her. Probably because it gets a rise out of her. I like to see her angry, and I like to frustrate her. It’s a dance, a fight, a war, and I never lose.
“I want you to stay the fuck out of my greenhouse.” I take a step forward, essentially blocking her escape now. She’ll have to pass me to get by.
Touch me even.
Because I won’t move otherwise.
“Let me pass.” Her jaw is tight, and her eyes are narrowed. She’s trying to stay strong in front of me with her hand on her hip. I know what she’s trying to portray, but it does the opposite. Instead, all her little show of defiance does is make me want her more. It makes me want to have her begging for me on her knees.