Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
He mutters something under his breath, then yanks open a back room and pushes me inside.
His movements are tighter now, jittery and desperate.
This didn’t go the way he planned. Good.
He faces me, his voice low and clipped. “This is what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna act like everything is fine. Like you’re with me willingly. You understand?”
I nod slowly. “Of course. I want to go with you. I’ve always wanted to be with you, Cillian.”
There’s just enough truth in that—just enough of the past—to make me nauseous. I’m disgusted with the girl I used to be, the one who wanted someone like him.
“Good,” he says, his mouth twisting into something like a smile as he unbinds my wrists. “That’s a good girl.”
When Matvei says that, it burns through me in a way that makes me ache. When Cillian says it? I feel like I’m going to throw up.
But I keep my expression soft. Keep the lie alive.
He pulls out his phone.
My heart starts to pound. Not yet, but close.
So fucking close.
“If my suspicions are right,” he says, “he won’t even notice you’re gone.”
Snort.
That’s where he’s wrong. So, so wrong.
“We’re going to have to go out there,” he says, eyes narrowing. “No funny business. I’ll press that fucking button—you know I will.”
Something about the way he talks—he’s unraveling. Like he’s losing his mind, losing his footing. Unsteady. Dangerous.
He’s always had a temper, a vicious one. And when his plans don’t work out exactly the way he envisioned? He doesn’t pivot but explodes. I need to use that against him, need to needle him, make him slip, then take control.
“What’s the matter?” I ask softly, feigning innocence. “Something go wrong?”
He growls, “You don’t need to know the details.”
“Of course not,” I say sweetly. “I trust you.”
I’m definitely going to throw up.
He brushes his hand over the back of my head in this awkward, almost-too-familiar way. “That’s a good lass. Sit at the bar and have a drink. Behave yourself.”
I have to stroke his ego. The narcissist’s poison.
“You’re so strong-willed. It’s what I’ve always loved about you. Especially when you’re in charge like this.”
He gives me a half smile and winks. My stomach flips. Fucking asshole.
He leads us to the furthest corner of the bar.
“Keep your head down. Look at no one,” he murmurs. “I have to take care of this.”
“I know. Of course. Yes, sir.”
So fucking gross.
From where I sit, I take in every detail I can. He’s on his phone again—ten feet away—muttering into the mic like a dumbass. As if Matvei and his entire bloodline aren’t coming for me. As if I’d ever go with this asshole willingly.
Fucking idiot.
Someone catches my eye. A woman at the bar. She sees me, and at first, there’s recognition in her eyes. She raises a hand, then freezes when she sees who I’m with.
Does she think I’m Polina?
But then something shifts, and her eyes sharpen. She looks at him, then back at me.
Slowly, she turns her palm up in a silent gesture of… help?
Her brows rise in the universal question: Is this your choice? Are you here willingly?
I glance at him. Then back at her.
I shake my head.
Her back straightens, and her expression turns ice cold.
She leans in to whisper to another woman at the bar—someone vaguely familiar, though I can’t place her.
They murmur. Point discreetly.
The bartender takes out a phone. Her fingers move fast.
My heart turns in my chest.
Does she know who he is? Does she know what he is?
Cillian drops back into the seat next to me just as the waitress arrives.
“Two Guinness,” he barks.
I hate beer.
The tray comes, and with it, a sweet smile from the waitress and a napkin she slides across to me.
Cillian’s distracted, back on his phone again.
I glance down.
One side reads YES, the other NO.
I tear off the NO, smile, and push it back to her. She returns to the bar, where the three women huddle again, whispering.
Cillian’s a big man—brutal, tattooed, and armed.
I can’t take him on alone.
What’s their plan?
What’s next?
I fake a sip of the drink—definitely not touching it. It’s probably drugged. Wouldn’t put it past him.
Another fake sip. Another glance.
The bartender tilts her head toward the bathroom and raises an eyebrow.
Yes. That’s the out.
“I need the ladies’ room,” I say, my voice soft, submissive again.
“Hold it,” he snaps through gritted teeth.
“I can’t,” I say, weaving desperation into every syllable. “Please, Cillian. Just come with me.”
I know damn well he won’t step foot in a women’s restroom.
“For fuck’s sake,” he growls, firing off another text, making another call.
“I have to go. Just let me out.”
I don’t sip the drink. Just pretend again.
When he finally rises, the woman from the bar is shadowing us.
I walk. He flanks me.
“No fucking funny business,” he growls. “I’ll press this fucking button.” His phone screen still shows the app, ready to detonate.