Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Will it be the bald guy with the gold tooth? The one that's always telling me I'm so pretty, and patting me on the head or copping a feel when he gets a chance? Will it be one of my brother’s many friends, reeking of pot and whiskey? Or some no-name don from Italy who wants a trophy wife?
It doesn't matter who it is because I know how all of these men operate. I've spent my entire life as the daughter of a mobster.
They'll take you and doll you up for a little while. Then they’ll placate you with house cleaners, extravagant vacations, and credit cards so you’ll overlook the way they reek of another woman’s perfume when they come to bed at night. Some demand order with the back of their hands. But none of them, not one, is ever loyal or faithful. If I’m lucky, he’ll be the type that will let me do what I want as long as I don't scream at him when he decides to fuck some pretty little thing.
I won’t go, though.
I can’t.
The door opens. I lose the ability to speak when I hear the sound of a deep, accented voice, cold as ice and harsh as stone.
My knees shake, knocking into each other.
I thought by now I would've gotten braver, but I haven't. I'm as terrified as ever, just like that night…
No, I can't think of that now. I can't think of anything except going along with whatever happens so I can get through this before I plan my escape.
I've been stashing away some money from tutoring. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to buy me time to get a cheap hotel and food when I'm on the run.
And I will be on the run. It's complicated, though. So fucking complicated.
Saul and I stand at the closed doorway of the living room. "Smile big and watch your mouth. None of your fucking bullshit, Harper, or I swear to God…"
"What? You gonna pull this in front of my future husband? He’s cool with that?" At least my brother won’t be able to smack me around while he hands me over to someone who’ll probably fill his shoes.
"Harper,” he grits through his teeth.
Asshole.
I thought I missed him when he enlisted. There were a handful of times when I was younger that he actually saved my ass. Once I even thought we were a team. He went to bat for me, risking my father’s wrath, even when my mother wouldn't. But something shifted when he came back. He was a changed man and no longer my ally.
Saul opens the door. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“There she is.” My father’s booming voice makes me jump. I hate that I’m so skittish.
I remind myself of the only person who ever smiles when she sees me. The only person who loves me for who I am, no more, no less. And it’s for her sake that I’ll put on the brave face I’ve been taught to wear just to get through this.
I straighten my shoulders, the stranger still hidden behind the doorway. My father’s wearing his fake smile, the one that stretches his lips but doesn’t warm his eyes. Beads of sweat stand out on his receding hairline, his usual ruddy complexion even redder than normal after a few drinks.
“Harper, sweetheart. Come in and meet our guest.”
A chill skates between my shoulder blades. He’s pouring it on thick.
“Go,” Saul hisses. He gives me a merciless tug so hard I lose my footing. My heel catches on the doorframe and I tumble into the room, my hands fly in front of me to grab onto something to right myself… and land on the warm, unyielding, hard-as-hell frame of my future husband.
Sometimes in Hallmark movies, it’s cute how a woman stumbles, and her would-be suitor catches her, all gallant and charming. He might help stack the books that tumbled out of her arms after a wholesome trip to the library, or heroically offer to buy her another cup of coffee. Their eyes meet, their breath catches, Cupid twangs his arrow—and the rest is history.
There’s a reason that’s fiction.
My suitor catches my arms and pins me in place like I’m an errant bird that needs to be put back in her cage. He holds me in front of him, his glacial blue eyes glaring at me.
This one definitely doesn’t look old and sleezy… not with that hard jaw made more angular with his scowl, and short-cropped black hair that somehow makes his blue eyes look like they’re chiseled from ice. There’s no greasy hair or yellowed teeth, no stench of cigars or scent of stale alcohol. No. His well-tailored suit hugs his strong frame, the breadth of his shoulders alone casting me in shadow. He’s calm and collected, not leering or swaggering. In short, he’s the opposite of the men I’ve known, and the effect momentarily shocks me.