Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Timeo silently brushed his thumb over the top of my hand. I wondered which one of us he was soothing.
“Did he hurt you?"
I didn't know how to answer that question. "He did this thing where he—” My throat closed. Timeo waited patiently.
I swallowed and continued. “He would come in with a gun, show me that there was one bullet in it. And then he showed me how to spin the barrel. He would hold that in front of my face, spin it, then pull the trigger."
"Motherfucker."
I remembered how terrified I was, staring at the barrel of that gun. "Russian roulette, right? I didn't know what it was called then, but I do now. He would come in every single day and spin that fucking barrel." I stared at our linked hands. "And when you did that, I don't know. It just triggered something. I was frozen with terror like I was in that room."
Timeo still held my hand. "It's called post-traumatic stress disorder. It's a trigger response to trauma. You were scared that he was going to kill you, so when I spun the barrel, the sound of it, the smell of the gun, anything. It's a good response to fear." He shook his head. "I'm sorry."
I laughed mirthlessly. "What did you just tell me about apologizing?"
"No, this is definitely something that deserves an apology."
"But you didn't know I would react that way. I didn't even know I would react that way. I didn't remember that happening until… just now."
I swallowed and pulled my hands out of his. I stood. "I want to learn how to use that gun. I want to be the one spinning that fucking barrel. Show me.”
I wake up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat. I don't remember what I've been dreaming about, and it doesn't matter. I look around the room.
Timeo.
He’s gone.
Sergio has probably decided to cut his losses, and he isn't fighting this anymore. He doesn't want to know the details of what happened while we were confined to his club, and God knows I'm not telling him.
We shared a bed last night. Exhausted, we fell onto the mattress beside each other, tangled up in blankets and sheets and each other’s arms, and fell fast asleep.
I stayed asleep.
I sit up in bed. Where did he go?
I glance at the time. Midnight.
Sergio said something about plans tonight, and I have no idea what those details are, but maybe I need to know. Shit.
They say ignorance is bliss. Now I know why.
I push myself out of bed. The night is in full swing at Bella Notte, and several people will stay the night. Though I'm told it's a much smaller clientele than under normal circumstances, I also know that I'm not alone.
The kinksters and nymphomaniacs and sapiosexuals — the free spirits — are here in full swing.
I guess snowdrifts, slick streets, and mammoth snowbanks don’t stop the most dedicated. We are in Boston, after all. We hardly close our coffee shops for a blizzard, never mind Bella Notte.
I dress in a pair of black leggings and a black top, thinking I'll probably fit in quite nicely here, dressed in all black.
I'm not sure how I feel about being in this club without Timeo here. But I want to find him.
Unease settles in the pit of my stomach. I chalk it up to my history. It always felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop when I was growing up. I tell myself it’s because we are no longer alone and secluded in the safety and security of this club. When it was just the two of us, it was almost as if no one else could tear us apart. But now…
Adriano, and even Sergio, seem to question whether or not they can trust him.
Can I?
Is Timeo truly capable of integrating back into his family, and reconnecting with me, after what he's been through? He hasn't even told me what happened, and I doubt he ever will.
I head to the bar because it's familiar, and because I know people here.
Quinn gives me a bright smile. She sits at the bar drinking something hot pink with a cherry in it.
"Well, if isn't the woman of the hour," Fern says with a smile, wiping down the bar. I wish she’d keep her mouth shut. I hardly want to announce my presence. "I heard that you and Mr. Timeo Montavio himself happened to be stranded here?" She puts the back of her hand to her brow with a dramatic sigh. "What’s a girl to do? Stranded in a high-end, well-furnished sex club with a hot, tattooed billionaire. It's the end of the world."
I roll my eyes but smile. "Yes, yes, it was. Awful. Torture. But before you get any ideas, it wasn't all fun and games. I mean, I had to make coffee in a pan, and we lost power.” I wink at Quinn. "Fortunately, I found this kit in the ladies’ locker room…"