Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Addictive.
He’s always been my weakness.
Time hasn’t changed anything.
He might be bigger now and more dangerous than the boy I knew, but he still has the same eyes.
The same mouth.
The same scent.
“Why are you doing this?” I breathe, but his expression doesn’t change.
“Because you left,” he answers, steady and lethal. “And I never did.”
His words don’t make sense. He did leave . . .
“What?” My voice cracks.
He watches my face. “You took the easy exit. Schools. College. All those pretty opportunities your last name buys.” His mouth twitches. “Meanwhile, I was left behind.”
“I didn’t know,” I choke out. “I asked. They told me you were gone—”
“They told you what they needed you to believe,” he cuts in, sharp.
Pain lances through my chest. “I tried—”
“Stop.” His eyes narrow. “You didn’t do anything. You left. Plain and simple.”
“I-I was trapped,” I whisper.
“And now you’re shocked you ended up in another locked room?” His voice is velvet-wrapped knives. “At least this one is free of your parents.”
Anger flares inside me. “And this is your payback. Great. You wreck my family’s world, drag me into your house, and call it a marriage because you want to watch me suffer.”
His mouth curves. “You make it sound romantic.”
“I hate you,” I spit.
“I know.” He watches me, studies really, then a smirk. “But you’re also doing an awful job of hiding what else you feel.”
I stiffen.
“Don’t,” I whisper because I don’t know what I’m asking him not to do—touch me, look at me.
His voice dips, quiet and cruel. “Don’t confuse my restraint with weakness.”
My breath catches.
“If I wanted to take what I want,” he continues, eyes locked on mine, “I would.”
My spine chills.
Then I force my chin up anyway because fear is not obedience, and I refuse to let him mistake it for surrender.
“Don’t confuse my fear with obedience.” I swallow hard.
His hand lifts slowly, like he’s going to touch my face, and my skin tingles in anticipation and horror.
Just when I think he will, he stops himself.
Footsteps pass down the hall.
“Car’s still outside. Vin’s waiting on a callback.” Rafe’s voice drifts around us.
Lorenzo doesn’t look away from me as he answers, voice flat. “Tell him to keep waiting.”
Rafe keeps moving without pausing.
Once the hall goes quiet again, Lorenzo steps back.
“Go to bed,” he orders, voice rougher now. “Find a hobby. Read something depressing. Don’t test the guards.”
“Or what?” I can’t stop pushing, and apparently, fear makes me reckless. “You’ll lock me in a tower? Take away my books? Chain me to the bed?”
“Careful,” he says. “Keep talking like that, and you’ll confuse us both.”
Heat flashes through me, mortifying and hot.
Luckily, he turns before he notices. I’m sure he would torture me with the fact that I’m clearly not myself right now.
“I have work to do,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks toward his study. “Try not to break anything while I’m gone.” Then he disappears.
I stay pressed to the wall for a long moment, lungs trying to remember how to work.
My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. I’m furious.
But most of all . . . I’m turned on.
I drag a hand down my face, cursing him silently. Cursing myself harder.
“Fantastic.” I push away from the wall. “Welcome to hell, Victoria. Population: you and your terrible taste in men.”
I stalk back up the stairs toward my room, each step a fight between my brain and my body.
He wants me contained.
He wants me quiet.
I slip into my room, shut the door, and lean against it, chest heaving.
That’s when I see it…
From across the space it sits on the dresser, taunting me…
A tiny pebble.
I stalk over, grab it and throw his damn rock across the room.
He thinks this cage will break me.
He thinks time and silence and locked doors will wear me down.
Maybe it would’ve years ago.
But not now. Not after everything.
Not after him.
42
Victoria
As my bare feet hit the marble, I spot one of Lorenzo’s men standing at the end of the corridor. For the past week, ever since our showdown in the foyer, I’ve had a constant shadow.
He’s not blocking anything, and surprisingly, he’s not standing in a way that signifies that he’ll be a threat. He’s just . . . there. Hands loose at his sides, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet.
He’s trying to blend.
He doesn’t.
I have no desire to speak to him.
Maybe he won’t look at me. As if he hears my thoughts, his eyes flick to mine, then away.
Good, we have one professional, not an asshole, in this place. He reminds me of the guards at Buckingham Palace.
I stop, eyes narrowing.
“Do you ever blink?” I adjust my grip on the book. “Or is that part of the training?”
His shoulders tense. Just a fraction.
“Mrs. Amante.” His voice is steady, respectful. “You should head back to your room.”
I tilt my head. “That sounded rehearsed.”