Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Fitful naps and muttered curses.
Staring through walls, soaked with sweat, crying.
Chris talking to the police and whispering in low, heated conversations with strange people over the phone. Officers coming and pressing me for a statement, and Chris holding my hand constantly, growling at them to back off when I break down in sobs that choke off every breath.
God.
The way he holds me might be the one and only reason I stay sane.
“You can’t let Dad find out,” I whisper hoarsely when I have a lucid moment. “He’ll never get over it... Chris, they can’t call him.”
“Just breathe, princess,” he tells me, pinning me to his massive chest. “You need a break, you say it. Any man who won’t give you one gets a fist in his face—no, I don’t give a fuck whether he’s wearing a badge. I’ll make sure this stays with me.”
Somehow, after spending half the night at the police station, we get an Uber and head back to our hotel. Chris says he’ll pick up the rental vehicle tomorrow, but for now, he’ll stay with me while I sleep.
I’m surprised I’m able to crash as hard as I do.
I’m even more shocked I don’t wake up when shades of red are all I see.
That grungy, mackerel-eyed man who wouldn’t stop groping me, whispering heinous things in my ear.
The older man—his boss, I guess—snarling about some kind of plot to—what?
Kidnap me? Ransom me?
I have to believe this is due to Dad’s money. Somehow, they knew who I was.
Anyone who grows up with a fabulously rich parent isn’t clueless about this sort of thing happening.
But you never expect to live it until it’s on you like a hungry tiger tearing at your throat.
“Delia, come back to me. Wake up.”
I open my eyes, shaking.
Chris cradles me, this gentle bear of a man, blowing warmth against the back of my neck that gives me goosebumps.
I swear he hasn’t left an inch of space between us on the sprawling bed all night.
If I hadn’t just been abused, assaulted, and nearly primed or worse, that would be delicious.
Now, it’s just sad.
And I can’t even hide how bad I’m hurting when I start sobbing immediately, and he just shushes me so gently, running a stiff finger over my lips.
“You lay there as long as you want. All damn day if you need to. Let it all out,” he rumbles, pushing his nose into my hair and breathing deeply.
“My fault,” I whisper back. “I-it’s all m-my fault!”
“Yours? Bullshit,” he says sharply.
But I’m a hot mess for the next minute, collapsing against his bulk, panicked sobs racking me from soul to surface.
“Chris...”
“No, Delia. Fuck no. This happened because of me. Don’t you ever think otherwise.” He waits until he has my eyes before he sighs softly and says, “I talked to my team this morning. Those men were sent by a group of scum who were partnered up with Jordan Warzach. We ruined their party and crashed their business—trafficking those girls—and now they’re out for blood.”
I blink at him, slowly letting his words soak in.
“...how long did you know?” I ask.
His face falls, his stubble a thicker, darker shadow than usual, so much pain glinting in his eyes.
“Since before this goddamn trip. I should have told you. I should have told your father,” he tells me through clenched teeth.
My heart jumps into my throat.
He knew? He knew there were people after us?
Oh my God.
I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel. But when his big hand slides into mine and he captures my fingers, I can’t bring myself to be angry.
Whether he screwed up or not, he saved my flipping life.
“I fucked up everything, Delia. Nobody else. A man on our team had his home hit recently. My bosses ordered me to lay low—and that’s the real reason I came back. I wish like hell I could say it was for you, but I’d be lying. I did it for work.” He pauses, his eyes flickering with grief. “And I fucking hate myself for holding it to my chest. I should have told you. I should have warned you. I damn sure never should’ve underestimated the threat and let us go on this goddamned excursion.”
It hurts to see him hurting.
I turn to face him, running a hand along his cheek, tracing his strong jaw.
“Stop. You can’t blame yourself,” I say. “You didn’t make those men...”
But I trail off.
I can’t even bring myself to say what they wanted to do—the unthinkable—even in a roundabout way.
If it weren’t for Chris Triton charging to my rescue, I have zero doubt about the peril I would’ve been in.
My stomach gurgles, sick and hungry, but mostly so tired. It’s like I’ve had my soul sucked out of my body and then power slammed back into it the wrong way.
That takes its toll on everything.