Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 170884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
The answer soon became clear.
I’d risk it all.
***
Lexi
It had been a soundless day in our household, which was a rarity in itself.
I didn’t know why, but A.J. was mad at me. Or at least I thought he was, until I saw the bright red Zinnia on my nightstand. With a sad smile, I picked it up and put it to my lips, pressing a light kiss to its soft petals before walking over to my A.J.’s room and hovering in the doorway.
I know he heard me approach, but he didn’t look at me; he just continued to stare out the window through the burglar bars that had been installed that day.
My heart ached to see him like this.
What was happening to my happy little boy?
With every passing day, my son grew more and more agitated, and not being able to pinpoint the cause was making me miserable.
“Thank you for the flower.”
He didn’t even spare me a glance. “I didn’t give you a flower.”
My brow knitted as I gently twirled the Zinnia between my fingers. “Then where did it come from, baby?”
He hesitated.
The worry in me increased tenfold. “Baby?”
He was reluctant, but he spoke, and when he did, he spoke whisper quiet. “Daddy left it for you.”
Okay, you know what?
I was a patient woman, but enough was enough.
My heart’s tempo increased. I dropped the flower, walked into his room, and knelt in front of him. “A.J., Daddy is gone.”
My son looked tired. “No, he isn’t.”
The air thickened around me, making it hard to breathe.
“Yes, he is, baby.” I took his face in my hands and spoke firmly. “He is gone, and he isn’t coming back. He can’t.”
And A.J. smiled so serenely that the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “Daddy’s not gone, Mummy. You’ll see.”
It was too much. My breathing turned heavy, I gripped his little arms tightly, and raised my voice. “That is enough! I’ve had it with this stuff. I know you’re sad, but—”
A.J. looked confused. “I’m not sad.”
“—this is getting to be too much. Enough. No more talk about Daddy.” My voice quivered. “He’s gone, honey.”
But he simply smiled and shook his head.
My entire body felt as though it was on fire. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see through the stinging blur at my eyes.
My heart was breaking.
That was when I dealt the final blow. Trembling, I lightly shook my son, blinked back tears, and yelled, “Daddy is dead, A.J.! He is dead, and he is never coming back!” My voice croaked. ”Not ever!”
To see my son look at me the way he did was horrifying, and the moment I released him, his lips began to tremble. His eyes filled with tears, and when his face crumbled, I wanted to die a slow, painful death because it was what I deserved. Dipping his chin, his shoulders shook, and I listened to his barely audible cries.
I was a monster. A terrible person. And at that moment, I felt lower than scum.
Crying silently, I reached down and picked up my son, clutching him to me like the lifeline he was. His arms went around my neck and my entire body shook with the weight of my tears. I walked him to my room and laid him down on the bed, sliding in beside him.
I don’t know how long we lay there. It felt like an eternity.
He blinked at me through wet lashes and said, “Don’t cry, Mummy.” His little lips quivered, as he choked out, “I’m sorry.” He put a small hand to my cheek, wiping away the wetness there, and as he did, he whispered, “I won’t talk about Daddy anymore.”
Yes. I was indeed a monster.
It took me a moment, but I uttered quietly, “I’m sorry I yelled.” When he turned over and shuffled back into me, I hugged him tightly, pressing soft kisses to the back of his head. “You can talk about Daddy.” I was glad he wasn’t facing me; that way he couldn’t see the despair written all over my face. “You talk about him as much as you like, baby.” More kisses to his sweet apple-scented head, and then I closed my eyes, and I whispered softly, “I’m so sorry I yelled.”
He was gutting me, but if that was what A.J. needed right now, I would hand him the knife.
Chapter Seven
Ling
“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were encroaching on my turf.” When I looked up from my desk and saw the beautiful Turk standing there, I smirked, and his eyes returned that smile. “Lucky I know better, yeah?” he prompted.
“Aslan the Turk.” I leant back in my desk chair, allowing my eyes to roam him freely.
Fuck me. I didn’t like Aslan, but he was gorgeous.
Dressed in his pristine black tailored suit, white shirt, and silken black tie, he leant against the doorway, watching me closely. The man in his early forties wore his dark hair cut short in a crew cut. He had a high fade, and his neatly trimmed beard took me back to memories of feeling its harsh scraping along my inner thighs. High cheekbones, strong jaw, fuller lips than should’ve been allowed on a man. Heavy silver rings lined his knuckles, and with a sudden intake of breath, I so badly wanted to feel the cool metal against my pussy. Those dark eyes of his were lined with thick black lashes that made him look much more innocent than he was, and something in me liked that I knew the real side of him, the dirty, raw, violent side of him that nobody else saw.