Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
"Let’s get you inside."
She stares at me as if searching my face for answers I don't have. Her voice is small and shaky.
"Who was it? And why were they shooting at us?"
"I have enemies.” I blow out a breath. “So do you. They don’t want us to be married. We’ll look into it and have swift retribution."
Pushing herself to standing on wobbly feet, she looks at the simmering remains of the car. “If there’s anyone left after that.” I don't offer more, and she doesn't press. Not this time, anyway.
She will. She fucking will.
As we walk toward the house—my guards surrounding us, wielding weapons as they come too late to protect us from any blowback—her silence is unnerving.
Wordlessly, I snake an arm around her shoulder when she trembles and draws closer to me. Leaning heavily on me, she lets me half carry her. How do I keep her from leaving me? Threats only go so far. How do I make sure that she stays?
She doesn't remember.
I can never let her remember.
Back at the house, I lead her to the living room, the closest to the entrance. Yana flits around, wringing her hands, and Zoya watches us silently, her face drawn and pale.
"Are you going to lock me up again?” With a pout, she turns away. “Somebody tried to hurt me, and I have to be locked up again?"
I frown. "Is it that obvious?" She sits down, cradling her injured leg, her face pale.
"Our enemies…" I begin. "Now they've seen me with you…"
Rodion stands at the desk near the bookshelf, his narrowed gaze a promise of retribution as he lovingly caresses his switchblade. "One more call, and I'll have names. I’ve got this.” He nods to Anissa. “Go, take care of your wife."
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t see him as my kid brother who needs to be taught how to behave. He’s my ally. My right-hand man.
I settle beside her, resisting the urge to prowl the room like a caged lion. I pull out my phone, forcing my focus into sharp resolve as I arrange for more security. Every call is a demand, every message a promise backed by power and wealth. I leverage every favor owed, tossing money and influence around like weapons. I have to fortify the walls between us and the dangers closing in.
I push to my feet and pace.
My gaze roves over her—she’s troubled.
"Rafail," she says softly, her tone steady but insistent. "Come back here." She pats the chair beside her, eyes fixed on me. She’s seated in the large living room, usually so watchful, taking in every detail—but right now, her attention is all on me.
I don't want to sit right now.
"Rafail," she says, more insistently.
"What?" The steel in my voice somewhat hides the edge of panic I'm barely holding onto. I can't let her slip through my fingers. Not again.
"I want to talk to you," she pleads. "Please. Just sit down."
When I sit down beside her, our knees brush. Her hand comes to mine as she holds my gaze.
We sit in the silence, alone. Me and my beautiful, stolen wife. The reasons why I took her elude me when I look at her winsome face, her trusting eyes.
She’s not here of her own accord, and when she remembers, she’ll want to leave.
I need her to want to stay.
"You look so desperate," she says softly. "Why?"
Her eyes are blurry, and when she blinks, the unthinkable happens. A fat tear rolls down her cheek.
I take a deep breath and decide to tell her the truth. “You ran from me once. And there’s a part of me that’s scared that when your memory comes back, you’ll want to do it again.”
The wide look in her eyes tells me it wasn’t the answer she was expecting. She doesn’t say anything at first but looks away thoughtfully as if choosing her words. When she turns back to me, she squeezes my hand, her fingers curling around my larger one. “I understand,” she says, her voice calm and steady. “That’s a reasonable fear.”
It's not what I expected her to say. Hell, I had no idea what she’d say.
For the first time in a long while, I feel a small smile tug at my lips.
“I wish I could tell you more about why I ran,” she adds, her eyes searching mine for answers I can’t give.
I shake my head. “I don’t have all the answers,” I say, aiming at honesty again. And damn, it feels good to finally tell her the truth. "I really don’t know," I tell her honestly. "I had no intention of hurting you. Well, not at first.” I run a hand through my hair and still, she continues to stare. “I’m not a good man and never pretended to be, but I had every intention of taking good care of you." It’s the truth. I did.