Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
My heart races and my appetite vanishes. I’m sure my face has gone white. Is he trying to be funny?
His eyes narrow. His gaze moves to where my finger should be. I set my fork down and place my hands in my lap to hide them from him.
“No one hurt me,” I say quickly even though he hasn’t asked. “I lost my finger in an accident.”
“Really?”
I nod. It’s what I’ve always said to the few people who have seen it. Who have dared to ask.
“The marks on your neck? Those an accident too?”
I swallow, my throat suddenly too dry to speak. “You misunderstand,” I say, setting my hands on the edge of the counter to push my chair back. Before I can, though, he covers my left one with his right. The tip of his finger caresses the nub where my missing finger is.
It’s a strange sensation and I look down at his hand so big around mine. I don’t try to pull away.
“Even if you’re not lying and this was an accident, which I don’t believe, the marks on your neck are not and there aren’t too many options as far as who could have done that to you.”
“You don’t know anything and besides, it’s none of your business.” I try to pull my hand out from under his, but he shifts his grip, taking my wrist, not letting me go. This is more what I’d expect from someone like him, after all. It’s more fitting for a mafia boss.
“But I made it my business. Who hurt you?”
“Why do you care? You who apparently sleeps with his brother’s wife—”
“What? Where the hell did you get that idea?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t know, her clothes in your closet maybe?”
“That’s quite the conclusion to jump to.”
“Well, it’s none of my business if you’re fucking your brother’s wife so I’ll keep my nose out of it just like you should keep your nose out of my business.”
His grip goes from tight to hurting. “I am not fucking my brother’s wife,” he says, tone different. Dark. Scary, actually.
“I don’t care if you are,” I say, but as I speak the words, I note how the turquoise of his eyes has changed, that sea blue turned stormy. There’s an infinitesimal shift in the muscles of his face, too. I’ve triggered him. But as I watch, I see he’s trying to keep control of himself. It feels like his grip on my wrist is some sort of anchor for him to do that, something solid to keep hold of. But he must be aware of how much bigger than me he is. How much stronger. How much damage he can do and how quickly.
“Let me go,” I say, hearing how my voice betrays my panic. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. I watched him break Michael’s wrist with one hand and I’m sure that’s just a tiny sliver of what he can and will do.
“My brother is gone,” he says, grip hurting now. “And she wasn’t his wife yet. She was his fiancée, and she is the mother of my nephew and a good friend. I won’t have you disrespect my brother or her or me.”
I snatch up my fork and press the prongs against the back of his hand. “I said let me go.”
“You do that, sweetheart, and you will be in a world of hurt.”
Before I decide how to respond, what to do, footsteps echo behind me.
“Am I interrupting breakfast?” a man asks.
I turn to look. The man, who is maybe a couple of years younger than Cassian, walks up the steps to the kitchen. His steps are confident, his expression relaxed although I see him quickly take in the scene.
He’s dressed in a dark suit with a navy button down and tie. He’s built like Cassian, big, but they don’t look alike so I don’t think they’re related. This man has dark hair that’s combed back from his face and green eyes, and his skin isn’t olive, like Cassian’s.
He gives off a similar energy though. Asshole.
“Jet,” Cassian says, releasing me and standing. I rub my wrist. Cassian turns his back to us and walks stiffly away. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t I drop in on my brother?”
So, they are brothers?
“Didn’t realize you’d be having breakfast with, what is she? Your houseguest?” Jet asks, looking me over. From his expression, I think he must recognize the clothes, but he doesn’t comment.
“Don’t get too close. She’s feral,” Cassian warns him before turning to me. “Go to your room.”
“I don’t have a room,” I say, slipping off the stool.
He grits his jaw. “Go to my room then. Now.”
My gaze moves from Cassian to Jet, who picks a strip of bacon off Cassian’s plate and bites down on it, grinning, watching our interaction with keen interest.