Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Cian Cooper is consumed by a mission of vengeance. Nothing will stop him from seeing it through to completion.
Until a homeless woman stumbles into his world and adds an unexpected complication.
She causes something in him to come alive. For the first time in years, he starts to think about more than revenge, feel emotions he has long locked away.
Caught in a world she doesn’t understand and too afraid to trust, will Skylar realize Cian is more than she believed him to be?
Or will his world destroy them both before they find the happiness they deserve?
Author’s Note: If you love suspenseful romance, enemies-to-lovers heat, and a brooding antihero who falls hard for the one woman he can’t protect from himself, Unexpected Complication is your next obsession—grab it now before Skylar disappears again
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Skylar
The night was dark, the air cold. The sky was heavy, and I knew more snow would be coming soon. I was cautious as I approached the empty street and slipped through the narrow hole in the splintered fence. Carefully, I made my way to the small warehouse, trying to remember the path I had taken earlier when I had discovered this place.
I crawled in a broken window and gingerly made my way through the dark building with only a little light from the street coming in the dirt-streaked windows. I found my way back to what I was sure was an old staff room—some empty tables and flipped-over chairs were still scattered around. The corner had boxes piled up, and I moved them until I had a layer on the floor to sleep on and a cover all around me so I couldn’t be seen.
God knew I might not be the only person who discovered the hole in the fence.
But for now, I was alone, warmer than I had been the past three nights, and slightly comfortable. Wrapping my arms around my torso, I tucked my backpack under my head and lay on the cardboard, listening to the strange sounds around the warehouse. Rustles and creaks echoed in the building; outside, the far-off sounds of cars and people drifted in the windows that were broken and empty. I knew what the scurrying feet meant, but mice and rats were the least of my worries these days. If I made enough noise, it would scare them away. I slept so lightly now, if one came close, I would know.
I shut my eyes, willing myself to relax. I had barely slept for three days. That was the last time I had been able to get a bed in a shelter. My last shower—my last hot meal. And although you never got a great night’s sleep in a shelter, it was better than walking around the city all night, looking for a place to warm up for a few minutes.
I sighed sadly, fighting the sudden tears. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it through the winter. Swiping a hand across my cheeks, I shook my head. There was no point crying. Nothing was going to change.
This was my life now.
I slept harder than I thought was possible anymore, startling only when an unexpected noise and deep, angry voices woke me. Bright lights shone through the slits of the cardboard around me, and I sat up, panicked, looking around wildly. It took me a few seconds to remember where I was and why I was there. I peeked around the edge of my little cave, my eyes widening at the sight before me.
A man was slumped over in a chair, his face beaten. His blond hair was disheveled, his jacket torn, and I could see blood on his sleeve. Two other men were standing, rigid and straight, hands clasped behind their backs. One of them was huge—easily the tallest man I had ever seen. He had dark hair, and his face was mottled with scars. His mouth was pulled down in a frown, and his expression was frightening. The other man was average, middle-aged, seeming almost bored, and he was frowning as well, looking unhappy. But it was the man pacing who really caught my attention. Tall, broad shoulders; his dark shirt wrinkled under his black leather coat, which gleamed beneath the lights as he paced and cursed, screaming at the man in the chair in a language I didn’t understand. His hair was wild—a chaotic mess of bright red. His hands moved constantly, and in one of them was a gun.
I covered my mouth, stifling the small gasp when I saw the gun. Gunman stopped, and my heart clenched, thinking he had heard my gasp. But then he carried on, screaming and waving the gun. He made two circuits of the room, shouting questions. Twice, he passed right by my corner and I held my breath, but his footsteps never faltered. The man in the chair said nothing, sitting slumped and silent.
I watched, terrified as Gunman stopped a few feet away from Blond Guy. “You gonna tell me what I want to know?” he asked in English, his voice now deadly calm and somehow even more frightening.
“Fuck you.”
A gunshot rang out, and the blond guy jerked, a shout of pain echoing in the room. His left leg began bleeding, and he slumped farther into his chair.
Gunman chuckled, the evil sound making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He tucked the gun into the small of his back and leaned down close to Blond Guy’s face, speaking quietly. Blond Guy shook his head rapidly, and Gunman pressed down on his leg where the bullet was. I could see his hand squeezing and gripping. Blond Guy screamed, his head falling back.