Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
She doesn’t belong here. This place was made to hold my enemies, criminals, men who will die soon. Is she really my enemy?
I take slow and steady steps toward her. I’m still not sure if I will hurt her or not. Part of me wants to... needs to. I want to shake the hell out of her for making a fool of me in front of my men, in front of other people.
Closing the distance between us, I kneel next to her. Only then do I see the bruise on the side of her face. It is black and blue, and against her creamy skin, a stark reminder of what I’m capable of doing.
Did I do that to her? I was so angry in the club, so full of rage, that my mind is hazy. I remember shoving her away… she fell to the ground. Then Eli took her. Did something else happen?
My stomach sinks as realization sets in. I did this to her. There is no question. Even if I didn’t strike her face or intentionally throw her to the ground, it is still my fault. I’m responsible for her. I took her there. I told Eli to grab her.
Suddenly, I want to laugh. I have killed women, countless women, ones who were mothers, daughters, aunts, it didn’t matter. I ended their lives, but the mere thought of blemishing Amara’s skin has me sinking to my knees.
A cut marks her top lip, and I know if I look at other parts of her body, I will see more bruises.
Gripping my hair, I tear my eyes away from her. I’m feeling conflicted. I have never in my life felt this contradictory. I always know what to do. There is never a doubt in my mind if someone deserves to die if someone deserves pain.
A whimper leaves her lips, and I turn my attention back to her. Before I can even stop myself, I cup her face in my hand gently. She doesn’t wake but leans into my touch in her sleep. She wouldn’t be doing that if she was awake. She’d be turning away.
I wonder if she can be the exception to it all. It’s weak of me to think this way, to want to keep her and do things with her that are not like myself. This is fucked up, and I’m fucked up for thinking that I can be different with her.
For years, I’ve never allowed anyone to get close to me. No one. Not since my mother. Losing her was the nail in my coffin; it closed the door to my heart.
But she has to pay for what she did. Forcing my gaze from her angelic face, I stand. She will have to pay. She has to obey so she can survive in my world.
Turning, I walk out, shut the door, and lock it behind me. As I walk back up the stairs, I find Mack waiting for me.
“Have the doctor come and check her out in the morning,” I say before he gets a word in.
“I actually had him come already. That’s what I was going to tell you,” Mack explains. “While you were dealing with the fallout at the club, Eli called me. Amara got away from him. She ran outside, and Eli had to tackle her to the ground. She hit her head and was loopy after. I called the doc to make sure she doesn’t have a concussion.”
“Thanks…” A word I rarely use, but I do feel gratitude right now.
“I know you’re angry with her, but I also know you don’t want her to die. The doctor said she is fine, by the way. Just some scratches and bruises, nothing serious. He left some ointment.”
I nod, glad Mack has my back as always. I slap his shoulder as I pass, heading to the main staircase, slowly dragging my feet up the steps.
“Make sure she is fed and has clean clothes. Maybe some aspirin too.”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
I make my way back to the bedroom and strip out of my clothes. When I fall into my bed, it feels empty without her. I have the urge to go and get her, but I need to go through with her punishment. She has to learn her lesson.
She has to understand that no matter how much she tries to sway me from evil or tells me that I can’t do something, I’m damned and will be this way forever.
12
Amara
I wake up slowly, and all I can think about is going back to sleep. I don’t want to deal with reality. Don’t want to relive what happened last night or the fact that I’m in a cell now. I might have been a prisoner all along, but it hasn’t been like this.
The worst part is being so alone and having nothing to distract myself. All I have are my thoughts, and none of them are good. So far, it’s been easy to tell myself I’m okay. That I’m in no danger, and Lorenzo is not so bad.