Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“I knew he was sending him to physically remind you who you were dealing with, yes.” There was no shame in his admission.
I gritted my teeth and gripped the door handle so hard, wanting to rip it from the car. I wanted to tear the whole vehicle apart. Fuck, I wanted to tear Jasper apart with my bare hands. Rip him to shreds to see if I could find even an ounce of humanity inside of him, some kind of salvation to justify why I’d given so much of myself to him.
Worse than all that, I wanted to cry. Me. I wanted to wail and sink down to the bottom of the world and cry because he hadn’t protected me. When I was stupid enough to think I didn’t need a man to protect me, then in the midst of the most horrible parts of it, I’d begged the powers that be for Jasper to come in to save me.
But that wasn’t who Jasper was.
And there was no greater power but me, my will and my ability to survive this. Survive him.
So instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing my rage or my sadness, I gave him nothing but a stiff nod. “Good to know.”
I opened the door, my body screaming in pain, betrayal, loss.
“Dove.”
My body went rigid at the nickname he’d only used as teenagers, one he’d dropped when we started masquerading as adults, as monsters, until it became clear we weren’t masquerading at all.
Though he still wore that fucking dove brooch. Every day. A reminder of who I was to him.
“I didn’t know he was going to rape you.” He said the repulsive word in the same baritone as the others, as if it were casual to him. I knew it wasn’t. As much as Jasper didn’t have a code or even a soul, I knew that he would never commit that sin.
Just be party to it, I guessed, even if it was after the fact.
“He died slowly,” he added, as if it was any kind of comfort. “For you.”
It wasn’t.
I pursed my lips.
This was my monster, his admission akin to a cat leaving a corpse at its master’s feet. His way of giving me a gift the only way he knew how.
For a moment, I squeezed my eyes shut. “If you’d wanted to do anything for me, you would’ve let me kill him myself.”
I slammed the door in his face before he could reply, walking toward the jet without so much as a hitch in my step.
I knew he watched me the entire way.
It was only once I was settled in my seat, twenty thousand feet in the air, martini in hand, that I admitted to myself what I’d wanted to say to Jasper, what I would’ve said if we weren’t engaged in a constant battle.
If he’d wanted to do anything for me, he never would’ve tangled me up in this, in him, in the first place.
Nine
Champagne Problems — Taylor Swift
Idid my best to push the trip to Vegas out of my mind, knowing that it was not the end of anything. I might not have owed a favor to Jasper anymore, but neither him nor those he answered to were done with me. The noose around my neck continued tightening until I figured out a way to get rid of it entirely.
And getting rid of it meant bringing down an international crime organization and potentially killing the boy I’d once loved. The one who was quickly turning into a man I despised.
All while thinking of a silver-eyed fisherman who could never comprehend the pile of shit he’d stepped in by getting close to me.
I knew that I’d have to do something. And soon. Whatever happened, I’d have to leave Jupiter. I mourned that a lot more than I’d expected to. I’d thought my soul needed the city to thrive, needed cutthroat deals, expensive meals, luxury, noise, danger.
But I was realizing that my soul might not be as dark as I’d thought. That the ocean breeze, the sound of my niece’s laughter, tea parties, full dinner tables and quiet evenings were a balm to all my chafed edges. That gave me the option of another future. One where I could be another person, one who didn’t thrive off power, pain, and empty-fucking with someone who may or may not be a psychopath.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
“What’s this?” I asked as Nora decorated a large, bright-pink cake in the shape of a spider. I didn’t normally ask questions about shit she baked—tried to stay far away from all that because I didn’t eat sugar, and she made me question every decision I’d made about such a lifestyle change.
But I was babysitting. Not Ava—their daughter who was currently with my mother—but Nora, who was getting close to her due date. Her blood pressure remained slightly elevated. Not enough to have the doctors recommend bed rest, but enough to make Rowan’s head practically explode from worrying. She was insistent on continuing to work—as she should have—and my brother was a protective alpha asshole who refused to let her do so without “eyes on her.”