Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
He leans back, stretching his legs beneath the table. “If you can call that a day. It was more like ten hours of psychological warfare with a side of needlework.”
“What did he say to you?”
He shrugs. “Talked about you mostly. About your shared trauma.” He twirls a sugar packet between his fingers. “He knows how to weaponize eye contact. The way he stares without blinking, with his mouth all soft and parted just right…” He shakes his head. “He makes everything feel sexual.”
“That’s part of the act.” I sip my coffee, wishing it was spiked. “He makes you feel significant and beautiful. Convinces you that he wants you and no one else in the world. Then he takes everything you offer and uses it to destroy you.”
“Is that what he did to you?”
“Worse.”
“Did you…?” He rolls his lips together. “Have you and he…?”
“I’ve never had sex with my stepbrother.”
His lashes flicker once, too fast, registering his shock. He looks away. “He said Gavin was a mistake.”
“Only because I found out about his betrayal.”
“Do you surround yourself with strays and freaks?” His gaze turns inward, avoiding mine. “Broken things like me?”
“That’s what he said?” My stomach drops. “Don’t listen to that. It’s bait.”
“I know.”
“You’re not broken.”
“No. Broken is too gentle for what I am.” Finally, he gives me his eyes. “I’m cracked all to hell, Birdie. Mangled beyond repair in most places and missing some pieces. What’s left is taped together and unraveling in ways that make people flinch and stay away.” He leans in, his voice secret-soft. “But I like what I am. Especially when you look at me like you see it. You see me, and you still stay.”
Oh, Wolf.
“Jag sees me, too.” He smiles without humor. “But without the same effect.”
“How so?”
“I watched the way his eyes tracked me today. The way he tensed when I touched the inside of his thigh. He’s used to controlling every room he walks into. But when he’s in my space, when I have his skin stretched beneath my hands…”
“He doesn’t know what to make of you.”
“Most people don’t.” He shrugs.
“That’s a good thing.”
The food arrives, and the aroma of grease, melted cheese, and warm bread wraps me in instant comfort. I dig in like I haven’t eaten in a week, and he matches my pace. The crispy fries are perfectly curled, and the pie oozes blueberries and sugar with every forkful.
We don’t talk while we eat. Lots of eye contact, though. And smiling. The food is good, but the company is even better.
When I reach for the bill, he snatches it first and hands over a wad of cash.
“I was going to get it.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“I could have.”
“You could, but I take care of my girl. Don’t fight me on this again.” He stands and fixes me with a look that shuts down my protest.
I accepted clothes from Jag. Denying food from Wolf would only hurt him. So I let it go.
Outside, the fog clings to the streetlamps, and the silence stretches between us again, but this time, it’s not heavy. It’s charged.
We stop in front of a building tucked between a pharmacy and a warehouse, unmarked except for a security camera above the steel door.
“Ready to see what flashiness looks like when it has unlimited money?” He turns to a keypad beside the entrance and taps in a code. “Welcome to my dad’s profligate lifestyle.”
The door unlocks with a satisfying click, and he pushes it open. The overhead lights stutter to life as we step inside a windowless garage.
Endless, polished gray floors gleam like lacquered stone under industrial LEDs. The place smells like wax and machine oil and money. Not the kind of money that pays rent on time. The kind that owns cities. The kind that gets handed down and never runs out.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” I slow my steps as we walk deeper.
Wolf strolls in like this is normal. As if rows of hypercars and luxury beasts aren’t lining the walls like a showroom in Monaco.
Bugatti. Koenigsegg. Ferrari. Rolls. Each one gleams like angels with microfiber wings detailed them. Some are on car lifts, suspended mid-air like sacred artifacts, their guts half-exposed in mechanical ecstasy.
“Leo gets that same look on his face every time he walks in here.” Wolf studies me like he’s cataloging my reaction.
I move toward a black Lamborghini, the Aventador I used to dream about when I was sixteen and pissed off at the world. I used to keep a poster of it on the bedroom wall in one of my foster homes. Right next to the knife I hid in the vent.
This car is real. More than real. It swallows light like a black hole.
A few feet away sits a Jesko, blood red and just as slick. I want to touch them all.
“These aren’t just exotic cars,” I murmur. “They’re gods.”