Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Yeah, you’re really loyal, Rocco.
Stupid.
For four hours, I sat across from him while he treated me like a ten-year-old who talked to a stranger, and after that, he ran down every possible scenario of who he could really be and where he might really come from and what his true intentions are. Then, one of his minions walked in and delivered the bad news … there was an “issue” with the security the day of the school tour, and the surveillance from the tour was “accidentally” destroyed—Oliver’s snake ass must have given me up, but at least he didn’t mention his appearance at The Enterprise.
My dad’s eyes grew murderous and speculative and poor Damiano would hear about it, but he won’t rat me out. He’ll take the heat in stride. I’m going to owe him one now.
The entire time my dad was in detective badass boss mode, all I could do was sit there and take it because the only other option would have been to correct him on all of his incorrect yet understandable concerns.
I did the same thing when I met Bastian and continued to play the what-if guessing game the weeks following before I realized he wasn’t some hired hand out to get me.
I’m the one who found him, after all.
Found him, stole from him, and then fucked him.
The last thing I expected was for him to show up at The Enterprise that night, but even more shocking was the fact that after I shamelessly let him play with my body, he came back for more.
And I’m not talking about sex.
He wanted that too, of course, we both did, but the boy who’d been burned in his own personal hell for almost fifteen years didn’t need me to keep his cock wet.
He needed me for more.
Something in his broken-down soul recognized the tears in my own and little by little, he peeled them back, revealing things about me that even I didn’t know. Or maybe it’s that I didn’t want to know.
Like how I loathe being forced to do what other people demand of me, yet apparently crave to be commanded when it’s my choice and coming from the man my mind considers mine.
How twisted is that?
I hate to be controlled, but I want to be controlled.
I’m a rich girl through and through. I was born into money, and I’ll die with more of it. I have everything and the means for more. There isn’t a person in my world who wouldn’t jump at the chance to befriend me, to crawl into my inner circle, or be the very center of it.
People respect me, love me, and yes, some fear me. A few may want to secretly drive a knife through my back, but they wouldn’t dare do it, at least not yet anyway.
I have two of the best friends a girl could ask for, both of whom would literally die for me if it came down to it. A sister I love who, despite her many flaws, would stand beside me no matter what. A father who protects me at all costs, quite literally.
I have all these things people can only dream of.
A dark, fairy tale life full of glitter and glam. Gold and silver, diamonds and fucking pearls. Galas and art shows and musical theater, where I’m the future queen, my throne warm and waiting, my people supportive and loyal to a fault.
But beneath the smile and strong, assured words is a crack that runs deep down into the darkest part of my soul, the part Bastion Bishop bled into, filling the hole that hid there with his own brand of bad. Of good.
Of him.
He didn’t look at me and judge me or call me pathetic for feeling like a princess in a caged castle I dutifully pretended I was in charge of when, at the end of the day, it wasn’t true. Like everything else in my life, for as long as I can remember, the decisions that mattered didn’t come from me or the girls. They came from the men who latched our leashes into place.
If I was in charge of my life, I would have taken the hand he offered and pressed my body into his waiting one, melting into his warmth, while his entire focus remained solely on me and me alone.
Every single eye in the place would have been glued to him, desperate to know who the man of the moment was, curious beyond reason about the uninhibited power leaking from his very being, demanding their attention without their permission, but he wouldn’t spare them a single glance. He would have known in the back of his mind they were watching because he’s alert like that, but he wouldn’t have spared them a single second of his time, reserving it for me and me alone.