Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
I can’t even focus on the fact that in the next second I hear a thump.
A crunch.
Of fist connecting with bone.
And it’s Ledger’s fist connecting to my father’s jaw and it doesn’t stop there. These sounds, these thumps, no. They keep going and going with my father taking the brunt of it all. With people stepping forward, trying to stop Ledger, trying to separate him from my father, trying to dislodge him.
But to no avail.
He keeps beating and beating on my father.
At some point, he even beats on Ezra and I feel a compulsion to go stop him.
I feel a mild urge to put a stop to all of this.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
The only thing I can think about as I stand on the sidelines, watching Ledger beat the shit out of my dad and turning the room upside down, is that he said married.
He said we’re already married.
As in, I’m married to him.
Married.
That’s not true though, is it?
That’s not…
It can’t be true.
It can’t.
I can’t be his… wife.
I can’t be…
Oh God.
I’m his wife.
Part 5
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Tempest Thorne.
My name is Tempest Thorne.
Well not technically. Not yet. Not until I formally change my name, but still.
And I have a husband.
Something I didn’t know about up until a few hours ago.
Until he — my husband — snuck into my room before my wedding and fucked me.
In broad daylight. In plain sight of the wedding guests and my future husband. And my father. Trying to get caught. Trying to stake his claim on me, and when we did get caught, he beat up my father.
And my future husband.
I hear they’re going to be okay though. That’s what they keep telling me. Something that I probably should’ve known since I was in the room at the time of the beating.
But I guess I was preoccupied.
And not by the fact that probably the whole world watched me get fucked and that was his intention. But by the fact that I was getting fucked by my husband.
My husband.
He later got arrested — someone had enough presence of mind to call 911 — and is now being kept in a holding cell. Because they both pressed charges, my father and my fiancé. Plus there were numerous witnesses who saw the whole thing.
In any case, I’m here at the police station.
Because I want to see him.
First, I want to ask him things. And then, I need to tell him some things too.
Believe it or not though, it’s not an easy thing to do, to meet up with an alleged criminal. But thanks to all the connections my brother has and the reputation his brothers have, they’re making an exception. So here I am, walking through the police station, escorted by a uniformed cop. He takes me to the back of the station, way past all the desks, and buzzes a door open that apparently leads to all the holding cells.
Well, there are only four.
And all of them are empty except the one at the end.
He directs me to it and leaves me with the instructions that I only have ten minutes and how to get out when I’m done.
But I only half hear it because I’m staring at him.
The guy who slowly comes up to his feet, his bloodshot eyes on me, his face bruised — probably not as much as my father’s or Ezra’s, but still — his hair and clothes a mess.
My husband.
Under the dim lighting, he appears almost haunted. Destroyed. Regretful even.
Of what, I don’t know.
There are so many crimes he’s committed recently that it’s hard to pick which one he’s remorseful for. For doing what he did today. Or for what he’d already done: making me his wife without me even having a clue.
As it is, I’m not interested in his remorse.
Or his concern.
Which is apparent when he runs his eyes up and down my body.
I’m wearing a black dress, and unlike my wedding dress and all the other clothes that I’ve been wearing for the past couple of weeks, it doesn’t hide my bump. It accentuates it, displays it to the world. For which I’m thankful, if I’m being honest. All this sneaking around, hiding my babies from the world, was leaving a sour taste in my mouth.
It felt like I was ashamed of them when I’m not.
So at least one good thing came out of this — I don’t have to hide my belly anymore.
“You shouldn’t have come —”
“We’re married,” I say, cutting him off, sounding stern and emotionless for once.
And I’m proud of that.
It’s always him who holds his cards close to his chest. But for once, I’d like to have the upper hand.
I think I deserve it after everything.
He flinches slightly.
But otherwise remains blank as he repeats, “You shouldn’t be here right now. This isn’t the place for you. This isn’t —”
“Aren’t we?”