Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“That doesn’t make me a victim.”
“You’re part of the clan’s fallout. They started a war they couldn’t win, suffered the losses, and only those still alive have to deal with the pain it caused. You can define yourself however you want, but you were hurt in all this, and you didn’t deserve that.”
I glare at him, pissed off that he’s making all these sweeping generalizations about me, but also aware that he’s right in a lot of ways. I didn’t want my father to go to war—there were a lot of people in the clan that tried to talk him out of it—but he insisted that he had to fight back. I always assumed that meant the Costa family started things, but now I can see it was him from the beginning, that my father was the one to open hostilities. I wish I had known it at the time, maybe I could’ve done something. But not anymore.
“You sure as hell have a lot to say about me.” I shut down, folding in on myself. “For a man that claims to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, little fox.” His voice is soft as he stands up. “I hated myself. I was angry with my family. But I don’t hate you.”
He walks away. I watch him go, seething with rage. How dare he say that? He doesn’t hate me? The bastard should despise me the same way I despise him. What’s with this softening bullshit?
I want the rage. The disgust, the bad attitude. That’s easier to deal with than… whatever this is.
I don’t see him much for the rest of the night. He’s up on the second floor in his office while I’m in front of the TV. But soon I’m tired and I can’t put it off any longer, and it’s like he can sense when I was ready to come up. He’s already in bed, a light on, reading something on his phone.
No reason to put this off. I grab my sleep things, a simple t-shirt and shorts, and head into the bathroom. I do my nightly skincare routine, brush my teeth, take my time with it all, and he’s still up when I come out.
I crawl into bed beside him.
He snaps off the light.
“You don’t have to turn in,” I murmur.
But he’s already putting away his phone. “I was waiting for you.”
“What’s with this bedtime obsession?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about us and maybe I was too quick to write you off. I saw you as the enemy. But you aren’t.”
“I’m still the enemy.” I’m tempted to mention the stolen documents, but this time I’m able to hold my stupid tongue. “Don’t get any ideas.”
He shifts closer. “What sort of ideas might that be?”
“Imagine there’s a wall here.” I draw a line down the middle of the bed. He’s dangerously close to crossing it. “You can’t get over. I can’t get over. Nothing passes through. Understand?”
“No, thank you.” He obliterates my imaginary blockade and shifts nearer, pressing his body to mine.
I don’t move. Instead of putting up space, I go still. My fight-or-flight response chooses freeze. He’s breathing slow and steady as he wraps an arm across my middle and tugs me closer. The man’s so warm, so big and hard. I’m nearly squirming and hating myself for how much I like this.
“I believe you,” I say, whispering into the darkness, afraid to look at him. “About my family. About who started the war. I believe you.”
“I know.” His mouth is at my neck. Warm and soft. Just breathing, for now.
“Which complicates things.”
“As if we needed more complications.”
“Would you move away?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry about your friend. Alright?”
He goes still. His breath stops for a moment before restarting after a couple seconds. “Thank you.”
“You’re not sorry about my dad?”
“I told you I wasn’t.”
“You asshole.”
“I’m not going to lie to you and say whatever you want to hear. Your father made his decisions.”
I close my eyes, trying to keep myself under control. I feel dizzy, torn in half, part of me wanting to elbow him in the guts, and the other wanting to throw myself into his arms. My nipples are stiff and I’m thinking of his fingers between my legs and his mouth licking me, making me scream.
He was right about me earlier. About my sheltered life. All I’ve known is the clan. Aside from my time at college, my world was tiny, basically just a few blocks of Dublin, controlled by the aunts and uncles and cousins, monitored by my father. This is the first time in my life I feel as though I’m free to do what I want, which is ironic considering I’m more of a captive than I’ve ever been.
“If I tell you something, I don’t want you to make me regret it.” I’m breathing fast. I feel stupid, but this is what I’m supposed to want.