Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 27182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
I stand there, breathless, chest rising and falling, as the orange sky turns black again.
It’s over.
And I don’t feel a damn thing but peace.
Because I’d do it again.
In a heartbeat.
For her, there’s no line I won’t cross. No law I won’t break. No man I won’t kill.
She’s the only thing that matters.
CHAPTER TEN
Lucy
I’m sitting on the porch, biting my nails when Emmanuel returns. I leap up and run over to his car, desperately hoping to see that he’s okay, and I’m really hoping I get to see that adorable furry face I love so much in the back.
Emmanuel looks okay, but I don’t see Cutter. The backseat looks empty.
My stomach sinks. My heart breaks.
He didn’t find my dog…
The engine stops and the door opens. Emmanuel steps out, massive and deadly. He’s covered in blood, but he doesn’t seem to be hurt with the effortless way he’s moving.
“I got him,” he says as he opens the back door.
I drop to the ground, sobbing with relief and gratitude.
It feels like a dream as Emmanuel walks over with Cutter in his big strong arms.
“Thank you,” I say between sobs as he drops to a knee in front of me, presenting me with my dog. “Thank you so much.”
Cutter lifts his head weakly and looks at me with tired eyes. I pet him and he licks my wrist.
“The tranquilizers are wearing off,” Emmanuel says softly. “He should be back to normal after a good night’s sleep.”
“Let’s bring him inside.”
I follow him in, marveling at Emmanuel’s large back and how easily he’s carrying my enormous dog. He’s so gentle with the way he lowers Cutter onto his round bed in the living room.
I swear I fall even deeper in love with this man when he leans down and gives Cutter a soft kiss on the face. His hands could crush someone—I've seen them do it. Thick, calloused, and dangerous. He’s all muscle and violence when he needs to be, but with me and with Cutter? He’s pure gentleness. I know he would never hurt us and that’s the sexiest thing about him.
He leans back and I take a turn, kissing my dog and whispering that everything is going to be okay. Cutter’s eyes close and he falls asleep, the tranquilizer still flowing through his bloodstream, putting him out for the night.
“What happened?” I whisper when we head into the kitchen, leaving Cutter to rest.
I pour him a glass of water and Emmanuel drinks the whole thing down in one gulp. “It’s probably better that you don’t know the details.”
I glance at the bloodstains on his shirt and his cut-up knuckles. I don’t see any wounds on him, which means it’s probably all Angelo’s blood.
“Did you arrest him?”
He shakes his head as those simmering eyes lock on me. “No. We both know he would have gotten out tomorrow and tried it all over again. I couldn’t risk it.”
I swallow hard, wanting to know, but not wanting to know at the same time.
“Is he…?”
“I took care of him,” he says in a low deep voice. “I told you. I’m never going to let anyone hurt you, Lucy. I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe.”
But I need to know for sure. I won’t ever be able to relax if I know Angelo is out there somewhere, plotting and scheming.
“Did you kill him?”
He takes a deep breath as he watches me with those sexy simmering eyes. “I did.”
Tears flood my eyes as I stare back at him. No one has ever done anything like that for me before. No one has ever put themselves and their freedom on the line like that.
He’s all-in when it comes to me.
He’s standing there, blood on his shirt, knuckles torn, eyes burning like embers—and all I can think is, God, he meant it. When he said he’d do whatever it takes to protect me. When he said I was his.
He meant it.
I take a shaky breath and step closer, my fingertips brushing along the back of his hand. He’s still warm. Still tense. Still watching me like I might fall apart now that I know what he’s done.
But I don’t.
Instead, I look up at him through my tears and whisper, “You really would do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”
His voice is raw when he answers. “Anything.”
Something in me shatters. Not from fear. Not from shock. But from the sheer weight of what it means to be loved like this. It’s the kind of love people write songs about. The kind of love movies are made of. The kind that’s red-hot and all-consuming.
I reach for his face and cradle it gently, running my thumbs over his beard. “Thank you,” I whisper, even though it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough after what he did.
He pulls me into his arms and I melt against his chest, breathing him in—blood, sweat, smoke, and everything I never knew I needed.