Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“I can’t believe you’re actually married,” he said when I didn’t respond. “She’s really a lovely woman. Too good for you, but lovely,” he teased.
“Don’t I know it.”
“You need me to fly back to Tahoe with you?”
“I could use the extra hands,” I answered, knowing Doyle would be out for blood the second he realized Serenity wasn’t safely tucked away in her room. We’d already been gone longer than I’d planned, but I hoped Doyle was too busy getting trashed and celebrating his potential sale to notice.
“I’m there.” Brooks grinned, always the one to find excitement in even the most chaotic of situations. “Happy fucking new year, am I right?”
I huffed out a dark laugh, wondering what the fuck I was going to do next. “Happy fucking new year.”
CHAPTER 2
Serenity
Afurious pounding jerked me from a deep sleep.
I bolted upright in bed, my head spinning as it took a few seconds for my mind to catch up with the present. The bed I was in wasn’t familiar, and it was drenched in a delightfully heavy scent of patchouli and black pepper.
Flashes of the night before snapped into my waking mind.
The argument with my father that took place right after the poker game. The way he’d refused to listen to my pleas after he informed me he’d be selling me to his Boston ally. He’d chosen Boston because that’s where our family home resided, though we’d spent half our time in Bangor the last few years after my father had purchased the Bangor NHL expansion team. A team he’d lost to Crossland in a poker game. We hadn’t been back to Bangor since.
A sore bruise was purpling along my ribs, the exact place he’d hit me when I told him I had no interest in marrying the old mobster. He only ever hurt me where no one would be likely to see. He told me I was a selfish, ungrateful, spoiled princess who didn't care about family or blood or the succession of our empire.
He was right about one thing, I didn't care about family. Not when the only family I'd ever known had done nothing but treat me like a piece of property my entire life.
Normally, I was too afraid to speak up, knowing all too well the extent of my father's punishments. He hurt me in places that never showed, and he threatened my life anytime I stepped a toe out of line. Like the one time I ate pizza instead of grilled fish on one of the numerous business trips he'd taken me on. He’d allowed the choice in public, but had punished me ruthlessly in private.
When I was young, I didn't know any better. My mother had been no help, as she’d been trained to be the perfect wife, which equated to silence and submission.
But as I'd grown older, I felt restless. And maybe the monthly poker games had exposed me to a world I never knew existed, helped shake some sense into me. Seeing the way Gareth and his friends interacted with one another, and how they treated the women in their inner circle, made me dream of a life completely different than the one I'd been born into. Gareth especially had always spoken up on my behalf, going as far as telling his friends that I could handle myself whenever my father forced me to take his seat in the game.
It filled me with hope, and that was torture.
For the longest time I’d kept those dreams close to my heart, protected them like a coveted secret I’d never share with anyone.
Last night had been my breaking point.
Last night, I decided I'd rather risk my life, rather die, than spend the rest of my life with a cold stranger who wanted to treat me the same as my father did. Like I was worth only what my appearance offered.
The pounding that had woken me persisted, and my heart climbed up my throat, icy fear trickling into my veins.
My father's voice roared on the other side of the door, and I flew out of the bed, still wearing the silk nightgown I'd fallen asleep in.
Gareth was already rising from where he’d slept on the couch in his suite in Lake Tahoe, heading toward the main door with a scowl that was so him etched onto his face.
As if sensing I was behind him, he held up a hand without looking back, a silent signal to pause and not come any closer.
My bare feet stopped immediately, like my muscle memory had immediately transferred its obedience to Gareth the second we said our vows. Or it could be the fact that despite all logic, I trusted this near stranger more than I did my own father.
Gareth opened the door, keeping one hand braced on the frame to ensure that a tattooed, muscled bicep acted as a barrier.