Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“I’ll keep you posted on what happens,” I say. “We’re getting married next Saturday in Chicago. Can you make it? I know it’s super last minute, but. . .”
“Of course, I’ll be there,” he says before I can finish speaking.
“Will you walk me down the aisle?” I ask and bite my lip to keep my emotions at bay. This is a big deal to me. I’m sure it is to most brides who have a ceremonial wedding, even one as unconventional as this one.
“Pres?”
“Fuck.” He clears his throat. “Of course, I’ll walk you down the aisle.”
“Thank you.” I smile. “I’ll keep you posted on what happens.”
“Please don’t let him do something he can go to jail for.”
“I won’t.” I hang up, set the phone on my lap, and glance up at Lachlan, whose jaw is ticking already.
“You didn’t show me any pictures.” He looks at me, barely contained rage in his eyes. Shit. This isn’t going to end well.
“What you know is bad enough.” I reach up and caress his face with the back of my hand, his stubble causing a shiver to run through me. This usually calms him down. Not this time.
“I need to see them.”
“It’s not worth it.” I drop my hand. “The only thing seeing them will do is make you even more upset, and you’ve already reached Hulk-level anger.”
That makes him pause for a moment. “You know I’ll just look through your phone.”
“You don’t even have my passcode.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?”
I sigh. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Give me your phone.” He sets his palm up, waiting.
“What if I have nudes in here?” I ask to bide time, even though this will probably make him as angry as the pictures from the attack.
“Do you?”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “What if a guy sent me his nudes and I have them on there?”
“Then I’d find out where he lives and pay him a visit.” His jaw ticks. “Stop fucking with me, Lyla. Let me see the pictures.”
I grip the phone on my lap, ignoring the holes Lachlan is burning through the side of my face. This isn’t really a battle I want to fight him on, but now that Prescott put the thought of Lach going to jail in my head, I’m terrified. I don’t know what I thought would happen. I knew he’d want to kick Jameson’s ass, but killing him was never an option. I mean, it crossed my mind for a brief moment, but I wasn’t seriously thinking he’d do it. Now, I’m not so sure. I turn to him, pulling my seatbelt so I can set my knee on the seat.
“First, I need you to calm down. Take some deep breaths,” I say.
He shoots me a look. “Show me the pictures.”
“Not if you’re going to be like this already.”
He glares at me but takes a couple of deep breaths.
I open up my picture app and click on the folder I saved them in. I hand him the phone and look at the pictures as he does. My face is swollen and bruised, and my nose is broken since they were taken before they set it back to normal. The right side of my torso is covered in purple bruises from when he pushed me to the ground and stepped on me, and effectively broke one of my ribs. My arm is in a cast from the fall. That’s it, but then, how much more could he have done short of killing me? I’m completely unrecognizable. When Lachlan looks at me, the sadness in his eyes breaks my heart.
“He didn’t. . .” I say, knowing he’ll understand. He didn’t rape me.
“You were alone,” he whispers. “I was in the hospital hating you with everything I had, and you were going through this alone.” He swallows hard. “Fuck.” A second later, he punches the other side of the seat. “Fuck!”
I reach for his hand. “I wasn’t alone.”
“I wasn’t there, Lyla.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. We’re both fine.” I squeeze his hand. “I need you to promise me you won’t kill him. I can’t have you end up in jail.”
“I won’t go to jail.”
“Promise me you won’t kill him,” I say again.
“I can’t,” he says quietly, his eyes troubled. “I’m not going to make you a promise I’m not sure I can keep.”
I scoot as close as I can get with the strap around my waist. I don’t know if this shit will even be effective if we get into an accident, but for some dumb reason, I think it still might be and don’t snap it off.
“I’m not telling you not to kick his ass,” I say. “I’m asking you not to kill him. To listen to me when I tell you to stop, and if I’m not there, to somehow keep it in your mind to stop.”