Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
“Who did that?” he asks, completely ignoring her, his gaze zeroing in on my bandages. “Do we have a name?”
“Why? So you can kill them for me?” I quirk a brow.
“It can be arranged.” His tone is matter-of-fact, like he’s offering to pick up groceries.
“Thanks, Kill, but I’ve got this under control.”
Because I’ll get over the man who gave me a lifeline, only to cut the rope.
And when I do, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.
35
GARETH
“How long will you keep following me?”
Simone and the guy stop in their tracks as I turn around to face them.
I mostly ignored them over the past few days when they shadowed me on my walks or errands or when I was shooting arrows.
But now, I’m annoyed.
Or too stuffed.
Or just murderous.
At any rate, I’m in desperate need of a distraction.
The wind blows along the edge of the lake near my parents’ house, pushing strands of hair into my eyes. I should cut it.
And maybe carve out my goddamn heart while I’m at it.
The guy takes a few steps back, clearly deferring to Simone, signaling she’s in charge. It’s not like I’d get much out of him anyway.
They delivered Medusa to the Heathens’ mansion, conveniently missing the dashcam memory cards—likely Declan’s doing, covering his tracks. Not sure why he took the interior camera’s card, though.
Simone also asked if I wanted to see Moka. As much as I want to, she’s with Kayden, and I’ve made a vow never to see that man again.
And I won’t.
Because I’m moving on.
I have to.
Next week, I’ll be back on the island for school. With an ocean between us and his absence as my professor, I’ll be fine.
I have to be.
“Join me, Simone.” I motion to the bench overlooking the lake and sit on the hard wood.
The fact that I no longer wince when sitting should bring some comfort. It doesn’t. It only stretches the emptiness wider.
Sure, I can go to some BDSM club and find someone to get me off. But I don’t think it’s necessarily about the pain for me. It’s the person who inflicts it.
Besides, I would never, and I mean never give someone else power over me.
Kayden was the exception, and he stomped all over me.
Simone hesitates before joining me, standing a few feet away with her hands clasped behind her like a soldier.
“Can’t you stop following me?” I sigh.
“No. I’m under strict orders to ensure your safety. Declan is still out there, and until we find him, you’re a target.”
“My family can afford bodyguards.”
“Not as good as me, Mr. Carson.”
“Call me Gareth. The ‘Mr. Carson’ thing gives me PTSD from when you pretended to be my PI.”
Her expression falters, and something like guilt flashes in her eyes. “I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m sorry for lying. And for what it’s worth, Boss only kept up the pretense because he wanted to hold on to the illusion a little longer.”
My chest tightens, and I fix my gaze on the lake, where couples paddle boats as the sun paints the water in fiery hues of orange and red.
I exhale slowly, the breath dragging out of my lungs like a curse. “Pretty sure he just wanted to extend the torture. To make me pay for your mistress’s death.”
“Mrs. Davenport was never my mistress, and I’m positive he gave up on revenge not long after he met you.”
Mrs. Davenport. Cassandra. The woman who had his last name.
My skin prickles as I stare ahead, willing the smiling couples to distract me. But all I want to do is drown them in the lake. Hold their heads under the water like I did Gilbert. Feel their struggles, their gurgling screams, until they go still.
Why the fuck are they smiling so much?
“You don’t have to believe me,” Simone continues. “But he never looked at her the way he looks at you.”
“Naturally. He loved her, and I was just a toy.”
Her head shakes. “It’s the other way around.”
I laugh, sharp and bitter. “Do you get a bonus for trying to sell me on his bullshit?”
“Mr. Carson…Gareth.” She hesitates. “Deep down, you know it’s not bullshit. He killed all his previous targets immediately, after torture. He would’ve never kept you around—let alone been…intimate with you—if he planned to kill or hurt you. He’s been a wreck since you left, burying himself in work and smoking himself to an early grave.”
Didn’t he quit smoking? He had, after I told him I hated the smell.
“Has he been in pain?” I run a finger over the bracelet I should’ve thrown away but couldn’t.
“Immense pain.”
“More than when Cassandra died?”
“He wasn’t in pain then. Just enraged.”
“He’d have to feel pain to be enraged.”
“Not him. For him, they’re distinct emotions.” She pauses. “He flew to the UK to retrieve your cat and some of his belongings. One of my men said he found a bowl of rotting strawberries and stared at it for twenty minutes.”