Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
She clung to me. “You saved me from him.”
Resting my head back on the edge, I peered toward the starlit sky and wrapped my arms around her as we drifted with the slow-moving tide.
“You’re not the man I thought you were.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“You should know by now nothing scares me. Not this place. Not my past. Nor the truth. I’m beyond all of that.”
“I wasn’t trying to scare you. Merely get across how an adolescent kid would have reacted to being brought all the way out here. And told all that.”
“It was what happened after this place that changed you. You were so young.”
“I can take you anywhere you want to go. I want you to know that. I can give you money. Get you out of New Orleans—”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“How can you still want to be with me?”
“How can I not?”
Her embrace, her resting her head on my chest, her stark beauty taking on a mythical status, as though the profoundness of her being was God taunting me with the happiness I would never deserve.
“I can’t let you go. I should. But I can’t,” I whispered.
“Then don’t.”
Anya
Once Cassius had fallen asleep, I came out here to the garden so he couldn’t see me like this.
Tears were staining my cheeks. I tried not to think of that car pulling up beside Cassius or those bullets flying. The thought of him being killed and taken from me forever.
Everything he’d told me in the swamp last night revolved in my mind like a living nightmare that wouldn’t cease.
The end of my innocence was marked with the realization my father was a murderer.
A fucking arms dealer.
Involved in the underworld of crime. And if I really admitted it to myself, after recalling the kind of men who’d visited him in the house, it had been obvious. From the money that flowed. The way he kept us out of sight. The fact he’d had children before us. It was terrifying to think of this man as my father.
A man involved with the worst kind of crime. He had the resources to destroy anyone who crossed him. Anyone.
The thought of Archie still in that house made my skin crawl. I had to get him out.
Only it would have to be strategic.
I’d brought out a blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders, needing the extra warmth to endure the late evening chill while I breathed in the freshest air. The garden sprawled before me as though it whispered that new memories were possible.
Happier times might even be possible.
Seeing what lay beyond in a new way. Instead of being imprisoned in this place, it felt like a refuge.
I reeled back, hit by the realization. I thought I’d been counting down the days until my escape, but sometime during my time here I’d started to enjoy each moment. Not living for yesterday. Or tomorrow. Just today. Cassius Calvetti—broken, twisted Cassius—taught me the most important lesson I’d ever learn.
To live.
Beyond me, the neatly trimmed maze was a contrast to the wild foliage that sprang up around it, tendrils of plants and flowers nearing its sides as though just as fascinated with its creation.
The ghost of Cassius’s words from the early evening in the swamp stayed with me. More than just his touch. The way he’d made me feel last night in that modest hotel room at The Pontchartrain. Safe and nurtured.
Though even as we’d shared a rare intimacy, he’d refused to take me. Refused to bury himself deep inside me or even let me pleasure him. I’d merely become a wanton mess of a woman trying to fall asleep in his arms.
All that was left was for my imagination to fill in the spaces in-between the fantasy made half-real by him. Let my thoughts carry me to the moment he made love to me.
I should have told him I wasn’t a Glassman. Maybe that was why he held back his affection. Maybe this was what prevented him from going there with me.
I’d almost shared the truth in that scary swamp and told him about my adoption. I’d wanted him to know I had felt pain too.
That we had more in common than he realized. I’d loved my adoptive parents, even after discovering their lost children. I’d felt their loss as though it was my own. Filled in the blanks of that story and entrusted them with how they’d handled their grief. Even as they came and went at home and gave us so little time, I’d found love for them.
Now, after Mardi Gras, all that was left of those feelings was a void. A crack so deep, it could never be mended. Not now, after I’d witnessed an attack on Cassius from that slow-moving car. My father might not have shot the weapon that almost killed Cassius, but he’d been in the car.