Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
“But—”
“She says there are some things she needs to clear up from her past before she can come home and we can get our happily ever after.”
“Fuck, Domhn!” I cry. “Oh my God, I fucked everything up again!”
“No, you didn’t,” his voice is stern. “I know you love to take the whole world on your shoulders, sis, but this one has nothing to do with you. She’s running from people she pissed off in a former life. She doesn’t feel like she can ever be safe until she deals with them.”
“Then we have to help her,” I say immediately.
He chuckles low.
“Don’t you think it’s killing me that she won’t let me?”
Right. Of course, it is.
If there’s one thing my big brother lives for, it’s to be the big, burly savior.
No wonder she never went home. He would’ve locked her up in a golden cage—probably in whatever new dungeon he installed in their new place.
It only hits me now that he’s actually talking to me—really talking. Like we used to. Like he doesn’t hate me anymore. Do I really have my big brother back?
“She knows what she’s doing,” I whisper, trying to believe it—as much for my sake as for his. I want to be here for him in the way I know I wasn’t before. I’m not going to be the little sister who takes him for granted anymore.
“Yes, she does,” he says thickly. “But I barely survived her being gone last time when she was safe and under my security.”
“Oh, Domhn... Is there anything I can do?”
“It’s been hell being out of contact with both of you,” he admits. “Kira said you needed some quiet while you got better.”
“I’m better,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Bitch finally got me on meds. Can you believe that? So I’m all good now. Swearsies.”
Kira eyes me from the other side of the room, lips pursed, face telling me I’m full of shit. Yeah, yeah, I know it can take like months and months for shit to regulate and start to actually feel… right.
“Has he heard about Bane’s father?” she calls, reminding me why I reached out in the first place.
“Oh, yeah,” I say distractedly. “Kira says Bane’s dad is dead. Is it true?”
Domhn sighs. “I’ve been working on confirming it all morning. Just got intel from inside the hospital—it’s true. He died three weeks ago. Asphyxiated in his own fluids.”
Holy shit.
“So does that mean...” I hesitate, my heart plummeting through the soles of my feet.
“Yes,” he answers for me. “Barring any end-of-life retribution, which I’ll make sure is seen to... nothing is standing between you and Bane anymore.”
“I—I—” I stammer. “Domhn, it’s really so good to talk to you again. And I wanna talk all morning, really, but I—”
“You’ve got somebody else to call,” Domhn interrupts. Then softer, “And, sis?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe drop by sometime.”
My whole chest fills with happiness at the request. “Absolutely.”
As soon as we hang up, I immediately dial Bane’s number—which I deleted from my phone after memorizing it—but then I freeze, thumb hovering over the green call button.
What the hell am I going to say?
Hey, saw your dad’s dead. Will you take me back now after I crushed your heart and stomped it to pieces? So sorry about that. Plus, I’m all whacked out on meds now, I know, what a prize!
I slump in my chair and delete each number, digit by digit, staring listlessly out the window.
Later, when Kira and Isaak are back in the baby’s bedroom attempting to put the kid’s baby furniture together, the doorbell rings, and my stomach doesn’t drop or twist or clench or do any of the dramatic bullshit it used to.
Well, yeah, ’cause I’m expecting it. I ordered a pizza. But I also like to think it means that as much as the meds suck, maybe they’re starting to work. I have to admit; I have been feeling a touch less wanna-crawl-out-of-my-own-skin lately.
I stretch, yawn, and shake out my hands as I push off the couch. My tea sits cold and forgotten on the coffee table, a half-hearted attempt at self-care that never quite sticks.
Whatever. Pizza is better.
The bell rings again, sharp and insistent. Jesus, impatient much? I’m already halfway to the door, tugging my hoodie straight and reaching for my wallet.
I yank it open with a breezy, “Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on—”
And then I freeze.
Because it’s not a delivery guy standing on Kira’s porch.
It’s Bane Blackwolf.
My ruin. My obsession.
My husband.
My stomach does drop then, so fast I feel like I’m plummeting off a cliff, wind rushing past my ears, heart slamming against my ribs.
He’s so goddamn gorgeous in a black suit, hands in his pockets, looking so sharp he could slice right through me. Like he’s been waiting for this moment. Like he planned this moment.
The world tilts, and I grip the doorframe.