Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Inside, it’s carnage. Regret thrashes. Desire bleeds. Grief ruptures.
I watch her watch me until the dock is just a shape, and she’s just a blur, and the night swallows the sound of her heartbeat.
I don’t look away. Not until she’s gone.
Moments later, the spark of a lighter cracks behind me.
Wolf steps up to my side, shoulder brushing mine, a cigarette glowing between his fingers.
“Frankie and my dad…” Smoke rolls from his mouth. “They’re a disaster. A beautiful, money-soaked disaster.”
“Why do I care?”
“Oh, that’s just the appetizer. Leo and Kody? Worse. Gorilla-brain energy. Territorial as hell. Ready to rearrange faces over absolutely nothing. One time, Leo punched a bartender because the guy blinked at Frankie with too much enthusiasm.”
“He… Blinked?”
“Yeah. Leo said it was a flirty blink. It was probably dust. Didn’t matter. Dude got launched.”
I stare ahead at the dark water, refusing to engage.
“They’re overbearing and needlessly foul,” he goes on. “A grunting, mauling, animal kingdom soap opera. They’ve been banned from half the establishments in Sitka. The other half only tolerates them because Monty tips like he’s trying to buy the building.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you act the same way about Dove.”
My jaw locks.
“But…” He flicks ash over the side. “There’s one difference.” He takes a slow drag, eyes cutting to me. “Frankie’s men don’t leave. They stick. Through the awful parts. The broken parts. The parts that reshape a man’s existence. They stay.”
He doesn’t look away.
Neither do I.
“This is what you want.” I harden my voice. “You want me gone so you can have her. Now you have her. You won.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure.” He makes a disgusted sound. “That’s my grand master plan. Run you out of Sitka so I can collect Dove like a trading card.”
I glare.
“What I want is for Dove to be happy.” He taps the cigarette against the railing, embers falling like tiny stars. “She wants you. A real relationship with you. Not you stalking her and blowing up her life. She wants the emotional-support criminal she felt safe with when you lived on the streets. The caring, dependable version. The one who doesn’t vanish in the middle of the night.” He softens his tone. “Doesn’t matter how brutal you love her, man. If you leave? She’ll feel that worse than anything your enemies could do.”
“She’s my sister.”
“Exactly. Have you met my family? Brothers, uncles, cousins… All blood-related. They’re a genealogical pretzel sharing the same woman. It’s scandalous. It’s wrong. It’s fine. Who cares? Everyone survived.”
“It’s not the same.”
“You know what your problem is?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“You’re hiding behind lame excuses instead of telling me the real reason you’re leaving.”
The yacht hums, slicing through the black water as he stares at me with unnerving clarity, like he’s staring past my defenses instead of at them.
“You think you have me all figured out.” I clench my good hand on the railing.
“I figured out enough. I’m trying to figure out the ending.”
He’s making this harder than it already is.
I can’t tell him I gave my life to a cartel, and we’re about to start a war against House of Crowe. If I open my mouth, people die. People he loves. People I love.
So I give him nothing. No more excuses. No half-truths. I let my silence end the conversation.
“Let me see your hand.” He tosses his cigarette.
I blink, thrown off balance by the sudden detour.
Classic Wolf.
Out of curiosity, I lift my arm, and he takes it carefully. Ironic since this is the same man who shattered it in the first place.
Turning it over in his palm, he studies the uneven coloring. With a gentle rotation, he tests the motion. A dull ache spikes, but the bone feels set.
“No more swelling,” he mutters. “Bruises went yellow. You feel pain when you move it too fast?”
“Yeah.”
“Believe it or not, I regret this. You and I crashed on day one, and I doubled down on the damage. Not cool.”
His sincerity strikes harder than the original break, opening a mess of emotions in my chest. Surprise, relief, gratitude, longing, all the soft, warm shit I absolutely should not allow. Too many things. Too fast.
“What about after?” The question erupts before I can swallow it. “Do you regret the kissing and frotting and coming all over my chest?”
“No. Zero regrets there.”
That stops me cold. I search his expression and find a sheen of vulnerability in his eyes.
The urge to grab his face and kiss him again thrums under my skin. He has some sort of spell on me, sucking me in.
I grasp for something to break it. “Does Dove know what we did?”
“She knows everything. I gave her every detail.”
My pulse thumps in my throat as I replay his mouth on mine, the frantic grind of our bodies, the heat, the mess, and the shock of wanting him, wanting more with him, more than just sex.