Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“Treat her right,” he murmured, “or I will claw my way out of hell and kill you myself. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Fuck.
“No second guessing,” he added, pulling back. “It’s either you or one of theirs. I’d rather it be a son than a stranger.”
A tear slid down my cheek. “I’m not your son. I’m your killer.”
He smacked my cheek lightly. “Course you’re my son. The minute you said ‘I do’—regardless of your reasons—you became mine too.”
23
TEMPEST
He who is cruel to animals becomes hard also in his dealings with men.” — Immanuel Kant
“That’s shit timing,” Raven said to my left while Ace watched with a wince on his face. “Louis’s been downstairs with Dad at least forty minutes. I’m surprised they’re both alive.”
Louis looked more pale than my dad.
Poor guy.
I stood and walked over to him. “You okay?”
He shuddered and pulled me in for a hug. “Never better.”
“Save it for later,” Dad joked, then smiled warmly at me. He always had the most stunning smile. My mom said he should have become an actor or politician like Uncle Chase. “You look beautiful by the way.”
I blew him a kiss and did a little twirl. “New dress.”
“I hope Louis paid for it.”
Louis went still next to me. “I’ll take her shopping and pay for a ton of new dresses, sir, I promise.”
“What the hell?” I shoved him. “Are you high?”
“Huh?” Louis shook his head. “No, just… thinking, you need more dresses.”
“I love a new dress.” Mom drew up next to dad with a glass of champagne in her hand. “Then again Dad always liked them off so—”
“And no more champagne for the birthday girl.” Dad kissed her on the mouth and guided her away from us talking softly into her ear the entire way.
They loved each other so much.
A pang of envy shot through my chest.
“Hey,” Louis whispered. “I’m not feeling so great. I might go back to the—”
“I’ll go with you,” I said quickly. “It’s lots of people, plus the men will all go into the offices later, shoot pool, talk business, the women will gossip—which normally I love—and make sure the kids stay alive while the bosses meet—we have time.”
“Time…” he repeated, “is one thing, that’s hard to promise, Tempest.”
It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it. Did I already know him well enough to be able to tell when he was full of guilt and sadness? That even the tilt of certain words dripped with sadness?
The drive from my parents’ house felt wrong—like the sands of time had slowed, like the inevitable was dragging its feet just to be cruel.
“Will I hate you tomorrow?” I asked.
Louis stared out the window. “I liked her smile first.”
What?
“And then I thought she was… sweet. Kind. But she had fire too. The kind that wants to protect you from the world—and from everyone else.” His jaw tightened. “I never understood it. Her need to protect you. If anything, I envied you. Your carefree attitude. Your notorious one-night stands. Your drunk texts to her. Your ridiculous stories and—”
“Do you have a point?” I cut in. “Other than comparing me to my sister and making me want to murder you?”
The corner of his mouth lifted.
He took a turn—the wrong one. Away from our house. Toward downtown.
“I finally figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“Why you’re worth protecting. Cherishing. Saving.”
My chest tightened.
“Take your pick,” he continued. “You want something that’s yours. You want to stand out. You want to project strength while feeling too weak to hold it—and yet you try anyway. Again and again. Without fear.” His voice softened. “Protecting someone who knows they’ll probably fail a dozen times and still does it? That’s someone I can respect. Someone I can admire.”
I swallowed.
“Someone,” he finished quietly, “I find myself wanting to protect too.”
The words were chosen carefully. Delivered perfectly.
“And you had this epiphany when?” I asked lightly. “While my dad was strangling you, or—”
He smirked. “You study people long enough, you learn patterns. But you know how you really understand someone?” He glanced at me. “The people who love them. The people who know them best.” He exhaled. “That’s where character lives. And yours is flawed. Deeply.”
I snorted. “Wow. Thanks.”
“And so damn attractive,” he added, “that someone should tell you—before it all goes to hell. More importantly, before you hate me in the morning.”
My stomach settled despite everything. Warm. Safe. Cared for.
“You know,” I said as he took another exit.
He pulled up in front of the Roosevelt Banks Hotel in downtown Chicago.
The Petrovs had bought it out years ago—turned it into a fortress for the elite. Dignitaries. The obscenely rich. People said it reminded them of the hotel in John Wick.
They weren’t wrong.
Beautiful. Secretive. You only got in if you bore one of the five family crests on your body.
Maybe he was banking on the small tattoo on my wrist.