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 just called my kidnapper from an alleyway to come save me from my murderous fiancé. I can handle it. Show me.”
I open the box and watch her face as she sees the hundreds of photos.
Her at eighteen. Her at college. Her last month. Sleeping, reading, laughing with friends.
Every moment of her life I could capture, catalog, and keep.
Her hands shake as she sorts through them. I watch her process it—the scope of it, the depth of it.
The madness of it.
“I told you,” I say quietly. “I'm crazy.”
“It’s a bit mad, but you know how we feel about that,” she whispers.
Then she finds one near the bottom—her at nineteen, crying on her bed.
I have a little sticky note on the back. She gives me a quizzical look. “These are… annotated?”
I snort. “Leave it to you to make it sound academic.”
I can’t hide my smile. It became a weird habit of mine, recording my reaction.
Then she reads the note and goes still:
I would hurt anyone who made her cry.
Another photo. Another note:
Her laugh is music.
Another:
So fucking smart.
She looks up at me, tears in her eyes. “These notes—”
“Are the thoughts of a stalker. I know.” I can't meet her gaze. Can't watch her look at me with disgust. “I know.”
“Ashland. These aren't the notes of someone who wants to hurt me. They're the notes of someone who's desperate to protect me. To know me. To—” Her voice cracks. “You're in love with me.”
There's no point in denying it. “Aye.” My voice comes out raw. “Of course I am. In a way that's probably not healthy or sane. And I know I have no right to feel this way. No right to you at all.”
She stands and walks past the boxes of pictures, around to me.
I track her every movement, wary, waiting for her to bolt or protest or something. Instead, she stops in front of me.
“Tell me about the night you saved me,” she says softly. “When I was eighteen. What happened? I want to hear it from your point of view. What you remember.”
I'm quiet for a long moment, remembering. “I was finishing a fight. Bare-knuckle, underground.”
“I want to watch you sometime.” She holds up a hand—I know, I know, not right now. It isn’t safe or whatever, but I do want to watch you at some point, okay?”
I nod. “Aye.”
Something heated flickers in her eyes before she nods. “Go on.”
“I'd just won—beat the other guy bloody. Tiernan was pleased.”
“How is Tiernan?”
My heart thumps. She asked me how he was. “Better.”
She nods, pleased, and I continue, pretending her little questions don’t shred me. “We were leaving through the alley when I heard a scream.”
Her breath hitches.
“There were two of them,” I continue, and my jaw clenches at the memory. “Had you against the wall.”
“And you went on the attack. I just remember they stopped, and you—you saved me. Then you threw cab money at me and sent me on my way.”
“Aye. I was already in fight mode. Already covered in blood from the ring. I beat them and thought you were a boy.” I finally meet her eyes. “And then I looked at you. Saw how terrified you were. Saw how young you were. Saw that you weren’t a boy, and got scared that someone would think I was hurting you or something…” I touch my chest, where it still aches when I think about that moment.
“I thought you were going to kill me too,” she whispers.
“I know. I could see it in your eyes. But I couldn't forget you. Your face. The way you looked at me, like I was a monster but also… saved. I had to know if you were okay. So I looked up your address the next morning. Made sure you got there safe.”
“And then?”
“And then I couldn't stop. I told myself I'd just check on you once more. Make sure you were really okay. But once became twice, then became every day. I was addicted to making sure you were safe. That no one else tried to hurt you.”
“Six years,” she whispers.
“Six years of watching you become this brilliant, beautiful woman. Six years of falling more in love with you every single day. Six years of knowing I could never have you because of what I am.” I reach up and cup her face, needing to touch her. “And then I saw you were engaged to Crowning, and I couldn't—I couldn't let you go to him. Couldn't watch you die when I had the power to stop it.”
“So you took me.”
“So I took you. Most selfish thing I've ever done.” My thumb strokes her cheekbone. “And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”
She leans into my touch, and I hold my breath… waiting.
“Kiss me,” she whispers.
“Bianca—”
“Kiss me, Ashland. Please.”
I don't need to be told twice.
This time, when my hands slide into her hair, when my body presses against hers, when my tongue sweeps into her mouth, she doesn't just respond—she claims me right back.