Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
I wanted her pain and I got it—and it’s tearing me up inside.
I don’t know what to do, how to calm her, so I just keep kissing her, stroking her as gently as I can. The thirst for vengeance is gone, and all that’s left is regret. Once again, I’m the cause of Sara’s suffering, and this time, it’s infinitely worse. This time, I know her.
I know her, and I care.
She’s still crying when I withdraw from her and get up to dispose of the condom in the bathroom. When I return with a wet towel, I find her curled on her side, with the blanket drawn up to her neck.
“Here, let me clean you up,” I murmur, pulling the blanket off her naked body, and when she doesn’t object, I run the towel over her soft folds, soothing the sore, swollen flesh and wiping away the evidence of her desire. She’s no longer crying, but her eyes are still wet, and the moment I’m done, she huddles back under the blanket, pulling it over her head.
I’m about to climb into bed with her when I hear the vibration of my phone on the nightstand, where I left it in case of emergencies.
Frowning, I pick it up and glance at the screen.
Change of plans, the message from Anton reads. Velazquez is moving to the Guadalajara compound in 2 days. It’s tomorrow or never.
I bite back a curse, fighting an urge to throw the phone across the room. Of all the shitty timing… We just finished working out all the logistics of the plan and were going to strike in six days. But if our target is changing locations, we’re back to square one in terms of planning. It might take several weeks to scope out Velazquez’s Guadalajara compound, and our client, a rival drug lord, is already getting antsy. He wants Velazquez gone as of yesterday, and he won’t look kindly upon a delay.
Anton is right. We have to act now.
Get the plane and the supplies ready, I text back. We’re flying out early morning.
Got it, Anton responds. I assume you want the Americans on her?
Yes, I text. Tell them to stay close near the clinic.
The last time my team and I had to go out of the country on a job, I hired a few locals to watch over Sara in our absence and report to me on her movements. They’re highly vetted, and though I don’t trust them nearly as much as my guys, so far I’ve been pleased with their services.
They should be able to protect her while I’m gone.
Setting my phone alarm to go off in four hours, I climb under the blanket with Sara and pull her into my embrace, curving my body around hers from the back. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away, and as I close my eyes, breathing in her scent, a feeling of peace settles over me.
Nothing is resolved between us, but for some reason, I’m certain that it will be, confident that we’ll make this work, whatever “this” turns out to be. It’s the only way, because I can’t picture my life without her.
Sara is mine, and I’d die before I set her free.
Chapter 33
Sara
A persistent buzzing drags me out of sound sleep. For a second, I’m so disoriented I think it’s the middle of the night.
Rolling over onto my side, I blindly grope for the vibrating phone. “Hello,” I croak, grabbing it from the nightstand without opening my eyes. My lashes feel glued together, my head so heavy I can barely lift it off the pillow.
“Dr. Cobakis, we have a patient going into premature labor, and Dr. Tomlinson was called away on a family matter. You’re next in line to be on call. Can you be here soon?”
I sit up, a spike of adrenaline chasing away the worst of my drowsiness. “Um…” I blink the sleep out of my eyes and realize sunlight is seeping in through the cracks in the drapes. The alarm clock by the bed reads 6:45—less than an hour before I need to get up for work anyway. “Yes. I can be there in about an hour.”
“Thank you. We’ll see you soon.”
The second the scheduling coordinator hangs up, I jump off the bed to rush to the shower—and stop dead, feeling the soreness deep inside. Memories of last night rush in, scorching hot and toxic, and all remnants of grogginess fade.
I had sex with Peter Sokolov last night.
He hurt me, and I came in his arms.
For a moment, those two facts seem irreconcilable, like an ice storm in July. I’ve never been into pain—just the opposite. The couple of times George and I explored kink, the light spanking he gave me distracted me from my orgasm instead of turning me on. I don’t understand how I could’ve come after such rough sex, how I could’ve found pleasure when my body felt torn and battered.