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)
I had no idea Wolf played an instrument. But why would I? I barely know Wolf at all.
One by one, Frankie carefully shimmies the stacked rings off his limp fingers. “We’ll get him through this.”
We.
I don’t belong in this family circle, yet here I am, folded into their moment by accident, by necessity.
They aren’t pushing me out, but I can’t stay.
“I need to shower.” I slide off the bed, stinking of cowardice, guilt, and motor oil.
No one stops me as I slip out the door. No one follows. The absence of footsteps is louder than a scream.
The shower fills with steam, but I can’t get warm. The water beats down, scalding, burning my skin red, but inside I’m frozen.
Palms flat on the tile, forehead pressed against the wall, I let the hiss of the shower drown everything else.
But it doesn’t drown the image of Wolf on the floor, curled up, arms around his head, scars crisscrossing every inch of his torso.
I squeeze my eyes shut and still see his face, so pale and strained with fear. His body trembling under the spray. And his sobs. Christ, those sobs. They splintered me into so many pieces.
My chest cracks open, bleeding and bare.
The Strakhs didn’t push me away. Without even meaning to, Monty claimed me in that room. Frankie included me in her we. Even Leo and Kody, suspicious as they are, let me stay.
Their kindness tips me over, and I cry harder. I’m not used to it. I don’t know what to do with it.
I care about Wolf. More than I should. More than I can admit. And I know what I need to do.
If I leave town, Jag will follow me. That’s what he does. He’ll keep his cameras on me and forget all about Wolf. He won’t hurt Wolf if I’m gone. He only kills men who stand between us.
The thought feels noble for half a second. Then it splits me down the middle.
Leaving Wolf… It’ll ruin me beyond repair.
I choke on a breath, but it caves into a sob. Then another. Soon I’m bent in half, fists pressed against the tile, water mingling with hot tears. Crying in a way that hollows out my insides. Ugly, violent, body-wracking sobs.
The water pours over me, steam swarming down my throat, and I’m hit with déjà vu. I’m shaking like him, like Wolf, fighting shadows I can’t escape.
I slide down the wall to the wet floor, knees to my chest, forehead to my arms, the roar of the shower covering the sound of me falling apart.
If I leave, I’ll save him.
If I leave, I’ll never encounter another soul like Wolfson Strakh.
The water finally runs lukewarm, then cold, but I don’t move. I sit there until my skin wrinkles, until my sobs run dry, until all that’s left is an empty throb behind my eyes.
Then I drag myself up.
I scrub at my face and scour my body, trying to wash off the shame, the grease, and the grief.
When I step out, I towel myself down hard, punishing. I yank on a shirt and sleep shorts and twist my drippy blue hair into a tight braid over my shoulder.
In the mirror, my eyes are red, my cheeks blotched. I don’t look like someone who belongs in this house, in their circle. I look like someone who stumbled into a family she has no right to know.
But I’ll face them anyway.
I’ll stay until Wolf is well enough, steady enough, to have a conversation about this. About me leaving. About why I have to go.
I won’t disappear on him. I couldn’t do that. Not after today.
Smoothing my face with the heels of my palms, I square my shoulders and bite down the leftover tears until all that remains is a dull ache.
Steam swirls around me as I emerge from the bathroom. And I stop cold in the doorway.
“Wolf?”
He perches on the edge of my bed, wearing a purple housecoat that hides every scar. But nothing covers the damage on his face.
He looks haggard, ashen, lips drained of color, and shadows dug deep under his eyes. His hair hangs in damp, messy ropes. He’s been wrung out for hours, every drop of fight and fury squeezed from him.
His eyes lift to mine, all those vivid shades of blue reflecting in the light.
“You’re spooked.” A frown ghosts across his mouth. “Monty told me about the man on the pier. Your security team saw Jag there, too.”
“You have more important things—”
“Nothing’s more important than you.” He pauses, staring at his hands, anxiously twiddling his thumbs. “But Jag and the stalker on the pier didn’t spook you. I did. My breakdown. I owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“You deserve a conversation, and I’ll give that to you. I’ll tell you what happened today. And what happened last year. And the twenty-three years before that.” His thumbs stop moving, and he slowly drags his eyes to mine. “But not tonight.”