Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
The brisk morning air gives me an invigorating rush, the breeze chilly and refreshing, not lethal. I take a deep breath, savoring the rich scents of pine and loam.
The balcony hangs over a steep ravine of moss, facing the secluded side of the main house. Frankie was right. No one can climb this high, not even with a ladder.
The estate’s primary living areas and bedrooms are located at the other end. No windows on this side. Except one. A cracked half-moon window sits beneath the eaves of the roof.
Is that an attic? I didn’t see access to it during my walk-through.
From my vantage point, I can see directly into that window. If I were standing in there, I would have a perfect view of the bed behind me.
Good thing I turned off the lights last night.
I return my attention to the island landscape and all its lush, green vegetation. Everywhere I look, life bursts forth in every direction, vibrant and full of energy.
The melodious calls of songbirds echo through the trees. The underbrush rustles with the movement of critters. Squirrels scurry along branches, and somewhere nearby, gentle waves lap at the shore.
This place is surreal.
Surrounded by the feeling of growth and renewal…I can get used to this.
The Arctic is beautiful in its own way, with its endless horizons and the silent majesty of icy hills. But it’s cruel and unforgiving.
Here, there’s a sense of possibility, of more.
I turn back to the room and catch something at the edge of my vision.
A cold, prickling sensation spins me back around, my eyes narrowing, focusing on the shadows beyond the tree line.
Still and silent, a man-shaped silhouette stands there, staring back at me.
I squint, trying to make out details, but the figure is too far away, too shrouded in the dappled shade of the trees.
Fucking unnerving the way it just stands there, like a goddamn ghost.
Or is it moving?
My heart gallops as the thing shifts, almost imperceptibly, floating backward, retreating into the deeper shadows of the forest. The way it moves, so fluidly yet deliberately, chills my blood.
What the ever-loving fuck?
I lean closer to the railing.
Slowly, it fades into the tree cover, becoming one with the shade, until it’s gone.
Did I imagine that?
Fuck.
I scrub a hand over my face. It must’ve been one of the many security guards on the island, doing their rounds. I’m just being paranoid.
But something about the way it stood, the way it watched me, lingers like a cold fist around my heart.
Dismissing the unease, I turn away, lock the door behind me, and follow the trail of discarded clothes to the bathroom.
Frankie and Kody watch me with heavy-lidded eyes, not ready to leave the bed. Bite marks and hickeys cover her tits from Kody’s barbaric mouth. More hickeys discolor her neck.
She looks well fucked and deeply loved.
After I shower and get ready for the day, I return to the room to find them both asleep.
Slipping into the closet, I pull on a T-shirt and jeans, loving the fit more than I should.
Being dependent on the Strakh family patriarch makes my skin crawl. It feels too much like the life we just escaped.
Quietly, I push the desk away from the bedroom door.
“Where are you going?” Kody’s gravelly voice drifts from the bed.
“Need to walk the outside perimeter of the guest house.”
“Thought you did that last night before you came up here.”
“I did, but it was dark. I need to see it in the daylight, make sure I didn’t miss anything.” I open the door, reengage the lock, and step out. “Then I’ll head to the main house.”
“No fistfights, assfucker.”
“No promises, cocksucker. Don’t let her out of your sight.” I shut the door on his grunt.
After my perimeter sweep, I stroll along the paths through the island’s interior with the image of that shadowy figure in my mind. I look for it amid the vibrant life around me, glancing back at the trees, half-expecting to find those haunting eyes staring back at me.
The few security guards I pass make themselves known, stepping out of the shadows to nod at me.
Their presence eases my trepidation, and eventually, I find my way back to the covered patio behind the main house.
Sitting beneath the overhang, Monty sips from a mug and types on his phone.
His head lifts as I approach, and his expression takes me aback.
Rage.
It twists his features and leaks from his rigid posture. A leak he’s struggling to contain.
His eyes, bloodshot and bruised from my fists, sink into his face like he hasn’t slept in days. But holy fuck, that glare cuts into me, cleaving and hacking with murderous intent.
The scent of alcohol clings to him, heavy and pungent, despite the presence of aftershave and cologne. He slumps over a cup of coffee, his hand trembling as he pours more whiskey into it, the amber liquid swirling in the dark brew.