Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Got a present for you, baby,” Cain whispers in my ear.
“Cain—”
“‘You shouldn’t buy me so many things’,” he finishes in a high-pitched voice. “‘Stop spoiling me. I don’t need all these things’.”
I mutter under my breath. But when he nestles a heavy, large, solid black box onto my lap, I close my mouth. My heart beats a little faster.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“Open it and see.”
My hand shakes when I slide my finger along the edge of the box top and gently lift it. I lean against his large, sturdy frame to help still the trembling, but it doesn’t work. I’m shaking. I don’t handle expensive gifts well, and something tells me this one’s not cheap.
I don’t deserve it, I think to myself, whatever it is.
He wouldn’t like it if he heard me saying that.
“It’s way too big of a box for jewelry and way too small for a car.”
His low, manly chuckle makes me smile.
“You don’t want a car, baby. Even I know that. You want a truck.”
Not just any truck, I want the gorgeous Toyota Tundra 4WD with the Rockstar Rims that sits in his driveway. The gorgeous force of nature with thirty-eight-inch mud terrain tires and black rawhide leather interior with blood-red inlay. Swoon.
I lift the lid, and my jaw drops open. I can’t breathe for long seconds, my eyes water with tears, and my nose tingles. There’s a lump lodged in my throat. I don’t trust myself to speak.
“You deserve it, baby,” he whispers in my ear. No. No one deserves a masterpiece like this, and most definitely not me.
“Is this the Wilson?” I whisper.
We were looking at high-end handguns the other day, and when my eyes fell on the Wilson Combat Tactical Supergrade, I almost lost my mind. It’s absolutely gorgeous, handcrafted from carbon steel, the premier in defensive handguns.
Gunmetal gray with silver details, it’s solidly built yet somehow lightweight. The handle’s decorated in a pattern that looks like sunbursts. Every detail is finely crafted perfection.
“I had this custom made for you, baby.” Of course he did. Cain doesn’t do cookie-cutter. “Takes eight rounds. Four-pound trigger pull, starburst grips, five-inch carbon steel slide.” He goes on about the details, front sight something something, blah blah blah. I’ve got guns that I absolutely love. Some that have become like friends to me, comfortable in my palm and ready to shoot. But this… this was custom-made for me.
“It’s lightweight, beautiful, and deadly,” he says.
“You do say the most romantic things.”
I feel his stubble across my cheek when he kisses me, and while a thrill shimmers through my body, I’m focused on the stunning weapon I hold in my hand.
“I can’t take this, Cain.” I shake my head. It cost five thousand dollars.
“You can. You’re worth it.”
I shake my head, but he gently pushes me off his lap. “Go show me, Violet. Show me what you’ve got. We’ve got the security detail tonight, and if you’re comfortable with it, you’ll take this with you.”
He’s got harnesses and holsters galore for me to choose from, so that shouldn’t be a problem.
I stand, new energy coursing through me with my new toy in hand. I tremble in anticipation as I slide the ammo into place. I’ve used his guns. I’ve borrowed guns.
I’ve never owned one.
I take in a deep breath, get into position, and aim.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
My God, it shoots as if enhanced with magic. Each bullet hits its mark with perfect precision.
This is it. I’m holding the weapon I’ll use when I kill my parents’ murderer.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cain
“Boss.”
I stare at the screen in front of me, half aware that I’m not alone but still too busy reading the latest report to really focus. Someone clears his throat. I look up to see Joe, my employee and friend, standing in the doorway with two steaming mugs of coffee. “You got a minute?”
I nod, shut my laptop, and gesture for him to take a seat. “Yeah, of course. Make it quick, though, Violet and I need to get ready for Monstraut tonight.”
“Ah, Monstraut,” he says with an air of dignity as if he’s narrating a high-end travel show on the Home and Garden Network. “Mandy Fontaina’s family residence, located in Manchester-by-the-Sea, the private, single-family home sits eighty feet above the impressive rocky shoreline so nothing but the Atlantic separates you from Europe. With elegant Italian travertine flooring, cathedral ceilings, and floor-to-ceiling windows, you’ll enjoy a touch of privacy with a flair of elegance.”
I roll my eyes at him as my phone chimes, and when I see it’s from Violet, I quickly tap it. A picture pops up with her standing in the middle of our walk-in closet wearing nothing but a little robe. Her hair’s in a towel. Joe’s words fade and I quickly glance at the clock to see if I have time to pay her a quick visit.