Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
For a suspended moment, we’re both lost to the throes of climax, our bodies locked together as the waves of pleasure crash over us. Arson collapses on top of me, his face buried in the crook of my neck as we pant harshly against each other’s sweat-slicked skin.
Gradually, our breathing slows, and the world comes back into focus. Arson lifts his head, his hazel eyes glazed with sated contentment as he gazes down at me. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Absolutely perfect.”
I can only hum in response, too blissed out and exhausted to form words. My body feels used in the most delicious way, every inch of me claimed and marked by the two brothers.
Arson pulls out of me with a satisfied groan, rolling to the side. I wince at the sudden emptiness, a dull ache throbbing between my thighs. I’m sore in places I didn’t know could be sore, but it’s a good ache—the kind that serves as a reminder of the intense gratification I experienced.
Aries slides closer, his warm body pressing against my back as he spoons me from behind. His arm drapes over my waist possessively, his hand splaying across my stomach. “You okay?” he murmurs, nuzzling into my hair.
“Mmm. More than okay,” I reply dreamily, nestling back into his embrace. “That was…”
“Fucking incredible,” Arson finishes, stretching languidly.
He meets eyes with his brother over my used and relaxed body. “I guess we can share after all, Brother.”
SEVENTEEN
ARSON
The laptop screen burns my eyes after hours of staring at it, scrolling through financial records, property deeds, and corporate filings—anything that might reveal why my backers are suddenly pushing their timeline.
Why are they so interested in Lilian? After all this time, why now? The warehouse is quiet this afternoon. Aries went out to meet with some contact—against my advice, but nobody gives a shit what I think. Lilian’s been in the shower for the past twenty minutes, the distant sound of running water the only thing breaking the silence.
I rub my eyes, trying to focus on the screen again. Something’s missing. There’s some missing connection I’m not seeing. These men didn’t invest millions in my revenge plot out of the goodness of their fucking hearts. They want something. Something specific. And it has to do with Lilian. She’s the only connection I can think of. They might have kidnapped her to get to Aries and me, but they didn’t really hurt her, and they accepted my request for more time too quickly after all the trouble of catching her. It’s been bothering me for the past couple of days.
When we first met, a couple of years ago now, they found me at the edge of the campus stalking Aries. So why had they been stalking Aries in the first place?
The deal we made involved them setting me up completely to bring down the Hayes empire. They asked it be done quickly, once the warehouse was in place, even going so far as to make sure I had extra resources to set up my very specific revenge for Aries. However, they never set a strict timeline for when they wanted my work done, and they didn’t start escalating things until Lilian entered the picture.
I did what research I could on the guys. The older one is always the one in charge. I think the other is his son, but they never seemed to talk to each other as father and son. Nor had they ever let a single name slip in all the time we spoke. Instead, they used mutually assured destruction as a means of leverage between us.
On a hunch, I search for information about the day of the boathouse incident. It’s not something I do often—deliberately dredge up the worst day of my life—but my gut tells me I’m missing a connection there.
I find photos from that summer gathering at the lake house, everyone dressed in white like some Great Gatsby bullshit. Richard with his first wife, my mother, Elizabeth. And there’s Patricia—not as Richard’s wife yet, but as his assistant, hovering at the edges of the frame. She worked for him back then, years before they married after my mother’s death.
Patricia knew Richard. Patricia was there that day at the lake house. Patricia witnessed what happened.
The realization sends me hurtling back—not to a forgotten memory, but to one I’ve spent years trying to bury.
The lake house. Summer. The boathouse. My mother’s face disappearing beneath the dark water. I slam the laptop shut, as if that might block out the memories that are always there, lurking just beneath the surface of my consciousness. The ones that fuel my rage, my revenge, and my entire existence since that day.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Arson?”
I whirl around to find Lilian standing in the doorway, hair still damp from her shower, concern etched across her features. I must look as unstable as I feel because she approaches cautiously, like she’s dealing with a wild animal.