Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 134663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“I told you to get the fuck—” My scathing words die on my lips when I see her huddled in the corner, her face tear-stained, black trails of mascara painting her cheeks. She’s in the red dress she wore the night I met her, her feet bare, her purse and shoes in a pile by her side. When I find her gaze, her eyes well and overflow, and she buries her face in her knees, hiding from me.
My anger is dowsed in a second. Her shoulders jerk from her suppressed sobs, her fingers and toes curling, like she can’t make herself small enough. I approach her quietly, as if sneaking up on a wild animal, scared it’ll bolt. I drop to my haunches before her balled body and rest my palms on her shoulders. I expect her to flinch. She doesn’t. I expect her to shrug me off. She doesn’t. What she does instead is move her hands and lay them over mine, a silent message that she’s glad I’m here. And, God help me, I am too. I drop to my arse and bend my legs, spreading them and shuffling forward so I frame her body, and she crawls into me, entwining every limb around me, holding me with a force like I’ve never been held before. And she settles. And for the first time today, for the first time in my life, I feel that too. Settled. My arms hold her to me as I sit on the hard floor with her wrapped around me, and I let her be, holding back my questions until my arse starts to go numb.
I push one hand into the floor and get myself to my feet, not disturbing Rose who remains clung to my front. I take us to her bed and settle against the headboard, and she never leaves my neck the whole time.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask, drawing circles across her back with my palms, feeling her shake her head into me. “How about if I don’t give you a choice?” Another shake of her head, and I think, wondering what my next move should be. With anyone else, usually a gun to the temple will fix the problem. But not with Rose. “Tell me.” I decide to ask nicely, nudging her. “Please.” She doesn’t move, remaining quiet and still against me. I can’t deny that she feels good there. Warm, soft, and calming. But I need to know what’s wrong. She was fine when I left—resolute with my order to leave, her usual spitfire self. This isn’t the Rose I know and love.
I roll my shoulder to coax her face from my neck, looking down, my chin on my chest. “Talk to me, baby.”
I feel her take a few controlled breaths, and then she slowly reveals herself to me, her hands on my shirt where her fingers twiddle. “I tried to leave.” Her voice is rough and croaky. How long has she been locked in the bathroom? And why?
“And you didn’t.” Everything inside of me wants to believe she’s still here because she wants to be, but there’s something more, and it’s making me feel uneasy. Her eyes drop, but a quick hold of her chin soon brings them back to mine. “What’s going on?”
“I tried.” She homes in on my scar, taking a finger and tracing the full length of it, from my eye to my lip. “I didn’t want to go, but I tried.”
She didn’t want to, but she tried. “So why are you still here?”
She shakes her head and swallows, looking away, and I feel my patience start to fray. I take her chin, my hold harsh, and bring her face close to mine. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“One of your men . . .” She fades off, and I recoil.
What. The. Fuck?
My bloodstream is already on its way to boiling, and I haven’t heard much yet. “One of my men what?”
Her bottom lip wobbles. “I know I’m a whore. I know what I am and what I’m good for.”
I’m starting to heave, her body moving up and down on my thighs. “Shut up, Rose,” I spit. “One of my men, what?”
“He wouldn’t let me leave before—”
“Did he touch you?” I breathe in slowly, dizziness distorting my vision.
Rose looks away. It’s all I need.
Holy fucking shit, I’m burning. I try to swallow, to breathe, to talk myself down. Fail. I get up and set her on her feet. “Who?” I demand, bending and getting up in her face. “Tell me who the fuck touched you?” She flinches when I grab her jaw, threatening and desperate.
“Watson,” she whispers, reaching up and taking my clawed fingers from her face.
I straighten, searching for some calm and reason in my chaotic head. No calm. No reason. I grab Rose’s hand and pull her out of her room.