Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I walk back down to the living area, my boots heavy on the floorboards, and stop at the fireplace. The flames are dying down. I want them to. I need to join her after the fire is out.
Six years. Six years I've watched her, keeping her safe from the shadows she doesn't even know exist. Now she's here, locked in my cabin, looking at me like I'm the very thing she needs saving from. It'd be ironic if it didn't make me want to put my fist through a fucking wall.
I grab the bottle of Jameson from the counter, pour myself two fingers, and down it in one go. The burn helps a little. Her fucking cat meows at me from the sofa, all curiosity, like he's figured out I'm the villain in this story.
“Shut it, cat,” I mutter. “You're here because of her, not because I care about you.”
He just stares at me with those yellow eyes, unimpressed. I reach back for the whiskey and take another swig, letting it sit on my tongue. I think about the way her hands shook when I took off the restraints. The way her wrists were red and marked when I removed them, delicate and breakable under my rough fingers. The way she flinched when I rubbed the heat back into them, my thumbs stroking over her pulse point.
I think about the way she still looked at me, as if maybe she was trying to remember that night six years ago—not just the rescue, but something else. I've never forgotten how she'd looked at me then, soft and grateful and so fucking beautiful it hurt.
She's here because Marcus Crowning is a fucking gobshite who'll hurt her. At first, I didn’t understand why she would agree to be with a man like him, given his sordid fucking past.
So I did some digging.
Turns out, Crowning’s crimes have been covered up by his arsehole brother, one of Dublin’s finest in law enforcement.
Crowning should be in jail for what he's done.
I down another drink, set the glass in the sink, and stare out the window at the darkness beyond. No lights for miles, no neighbors, no one to hear her if she screams. Good.
She's mine.
My need claws at my chest like an animal, and I tamp it back down.
She's safe, I tell myself, as if warring with the devil and the angel on my shoulders.
She's safe.
Mine.
Safe.
I shake my head and turn away, my eyes resting on her phone, plugged in and tucked away on a shelf. And if she does find it, I've changed her bloody password.
I'll check her messages. I need to see what her fucking fiancé is saying and what her mam said. Make sure no one's getting suspicious. I don't need anyone looking for the lass.
I scroll through her notifications. There are only a few. She doesn't spend much time on her phone, preferring time with her cat, her books, or her friends in person. She has no socials and doesn't text very often.
When I click the message button, there are twelve messages from her fucking mother.
Mam
Bianca love, just checking in. You alright?
You didn't call today, I'm worried. Ring me when you can.
Bianca, love, this isn't like you.
Each one is more frantic than the last. I can picture her pacing the drawing room of the little flat, worried about her reputation. I never much liked her mother. Francesca White’s a fucking narcissist.
I type out a response mimicking Bianca's text style, casual and reassuring. Short and to the point is likely best.
Needed some space to clear my head. The trip is lovely. Please don't worry. I'll ring you soon. Love you.
I click send.
Then fucking Crowning.
Five messages, not nearly as understanding. And it takes every ounce of self-control in my body to not get in the car, drive to the bugger, and beat the living shite out of him like I've wanted to for so long now.
We'll get there, and when I do, I'll savor every goddamn second.
Crowning
Bianca, you can't just leave like this. We need to talk about this properly.
Bianca, answer me.
Is this because I made those comments about your weight and the gym? I only want what's best for you. You got quiet after that.
What a fucking wanker. Criticizing her body? Bianca's?
Christ. I want to sink my teeth into those curves and fuck her until she knows exactly how perfect she is.
I'll keep this in mind when I finally get my hands on him.
Crowning
Fine. Take your time, but we will discuss this when you get back.
Arsehole.
I type quickly, keeping it short. Bianca wouldn't grovel to him.
You fucking son of a—
I sigh, delete the damn message, then try again.
Marcus. I said I need space. I just graduated college. I'm not ready to move in with you yet. Respect that, please. I'll be in touch when I'm ready.