Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
She nodded. "He used to just show up when he needed something. Usually money. He would bring gifts—things he had stolen—and he would act like a provider. Like Grandma and I were living off his generosity. Then he would disappear as soon as his debts caught up to him. They always caught up to him."
Alina's voice trembled as she continued her confession.
"My grandmother was diagnosed with early-onset dementia. I couldn't take care of her, so now she lives in a nursing home in Virginia. I go to visit her as often as I can. At first it was fine, better even. She had Medicaid and a pension to pay for her housing, and I was living just off campus. I missed her, but she was doing so much better."
"Then what happened?"
"One day, she told me about these men dressed in black who came to see her. They were asking questions about me and my father, how she paid for the nursing home, and where I spent my time."
Her eyes cast down as she swallowed. I gave her only a moment to gather herself. Just as I was about to say something to urge her on, she kept going.
"At first, I just dismissed it as paranoia, or maybe some delusion, or something from the TV she thought was real—just the dementia talking. But then the staff confirmed it. They had asked the nurses about me too, and a few of them were scared of the men. There were three of them, and at least one of them had a gun."
"And the staff just let them in?"
"They claimed to be cousins. I don't think the nurse saw the gun until they were leaving. They asked strange questions about my father. How often he visited and things like that. I didn't think much of it until later that night…"
Her words trailed off again. I tilted her chin up for her to look at me. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine.
She was terrified of whatever had happened.
Something twisted in my chest at the sight.
"I came home to find my apartment trashed. Before I could take out my phone to call the police and make a report about what happened, three men burst through my door. They told me that my father had debts. If I didn't pay them off, there would be consequences—starting with my grandmother. They wanted to take more than just money… but I agreed to pay the debt if they didn't hurt my grandmother."
A long, shuddering breath left her body, and I took my hand off her throat and instead cupped her cheek, wiping away the tears with my thumb.
"What aren't you saying?"
She swallowed. "I had a roommate at the time. She came home, and I think if she hadn't, things would have ended…very differently."
The implication hit me like a physical blow. I fought the urge to pull her into a protective hug and promise her everything would be okay. That wasn't who I was. I wasn't the man who held a woman close to comfort her.
But I would be the man who ended the lives of everyone who hurt her.
"I had no choice. I dropped out of college, started working as a cleaner and bartender under the table. The debt was so large, I was doing anything I could to earn as much cash as possible."
The more she talked, the more my anger rose, like a deadly heat snaking up my spine.
I let her go and took a step back.
She kept telling me about every time they demanded more, adding fees for collection, and interest on the interest. She paced the room, her nerves on edge. But all I could feel was the burn of something vicious and unfamiliar inside me.
Rage. I thought I had felt it before, but this was different.
This wasn't a hot, uncontrollable fire. This was cold, hard, and all-consuming.
This rage wasn't aimed at her, it was for her.
Fueled by the trauma she had endured at the hands of others.
This rage was aimed at them.
The contradiction should have bothered me more than it did.
And I couldn't explain why.
Why did I want to rip these men apart for doing things I had done a hundred times? Hell, I had done significantly worse and reveled in it. I had only just met this woman. I shouldn't give a fuck what some other family did to recoup their losses on a bad loan.
But I did.
I cared, because she was mine.
If anyone was the monster in her life, it was me.
And yet…
From the moment I saw her, from the moment she looked up at me with those big, defiant brown eyes, I'd known. I didn't understand it then, but I understood it now.
She needed protection.
And I wanted to be the one to give it to her. It should've meant protecting her from myself. Resisting the urge to go after her, to take her, strip her naked and chain her to my bed.