Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
I leaned across the table to loom over him, knuckles digging into the rotten old wood. “In the meantime, you stop following my wife. You back the fuck off and let her live her life, you hear me?”
He cocked his head, tsking. “A wise man once told me not to let people get deep under your skin. It’s a weakness in your line of work, see.”
God-fucking-dammit with this asshole. “Your word, Tiernan.” I bared my teeth.
Tiernan’s eyes blazed with something I’d never seen before. Not even on Andrin. This unabashed, gleeful hunger for chaos.
“And they say romance is dead.” He put a hand to his heart. It was the first time I took inventory of his attire and realized he was armed to the teeth. His holster held two Glocks, and he had a knife strapped to his thigh.
“Don’t mess with me.” I bunched the collar of his shirt, yanking him so that our noses smashed together. A spray of blood erupted from his nostrils at the sudden, rough contact. “Give me your word.”
“I’m surprised it’d mean anything to you,” he mused, tongue darting to lick a trail of his own blood, a smirk on his face.
I’d almost broken his nose, and he didn’t give half a fuck. Between us, I felt the mouth of his gun digging into my sternum, warning me to back off.
“It does.”
“I give you my word then.”
I released him.
He sat back down unhurriedly, an amused smirk on his face. “You can go on your merry way now, Blackthorn. Do my bidding for me.” He raised a fresh pint of Guinness the same waitress who approached me put in front of him, angling the drink to me in salute. “You have forty-eight hours. Use them well.”
It was my twenty-first birthday when Daniel and I got drunk in Vienna.
He took me to an interesting destination each birthday. Europe was our favorite spot, since it was relatively close and drenched with history and art, both of which we were fond of.
“Have you ever wondered”—Daniel raised his fourth glass of whiskey to his mouth, mumbling around the rim—“why Andrin did what he did to you?”
I froze midsip, slowly putting my drink down. We never discussed Andrin. I never asked Daniel about my abuser’s peculiar skiing accident. I figured he would never fess up if he did anything. And frankly, I knew I’d be disappointed if Daniel denied it.
I wanted to think the last person Andrin ever saw promised him a slow and painful death.
“I did.” I cleared my throat. “All the time, in fact.”
“Why didn’t you check then?” Daniel asked. We were in a traditional Austrian pub, where the beer was leisurely crafted, the furniture carved of raw wood, and the lights were golden and creamy. Most of the people around us were locals. They were too wrapped up in their own conversations to pay attention to the two drunk Americans.
“Because I knew how much it’d trigger me,” I admitted. By then, I understood I had ten tons of baggage. That my sanity was held together by a thin, brittle string. And that looking into Andrin—really looking into him—may snap that string and become my undoing.
I didn’t want to fall apart.
Didn’t want Andrin to win, even if it was from his grave.
Daniel stared into his whiskey, rolling his knuckles over his white whiskers. He was growing older. Old enough that I was a little panicky. I always had the inkling Daniel, in fact, was the very string keeping me together.
“Well, I did.” My father put his drink down. “I conducted thorough research. I wanted to know why he—” He stopped, glancing sideways to catch my expression.
I kept it blank and glacial. It was bad enough to admit to myself how much power Andrin, dead or not, had over me. No need to act hysterically.
“Carry on,” I said, realizing that I wanted to know. Was desperate to unveil why this man had tortured me the way he did.
“Why he did what he did to you,” Daniel finished. “So I hired a security company that ran an investigation on him. It was crucial I knew everything about him before…” He stopped again.
I reached across the table, squeezing his hand in mine. “Yes, I know.”
Our gazes locked, and something passed between us. An unspoken promise. A vow. Daniel killed for me, and I would kill for him. No questions asked. It was the least I could do for the man who saved my life.
“So.” I withdrew my hand from his, still unaccustomed to affectionate touches. “What did you find out?”
“I looked into what made him take such a risk. Torture you and jeopardize his life. His career. He was born in a small village in Switzerland. Lived there his whole life…until university. That was when he moved to Zurich. And during his time at ETH Zurich, he took a semester in New York.”