Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Part of me wants to burn the city down to find them. Another part, the cold, calculating part I try to keep buried, knows that making a scene could put them in more danger. If it’s danger that they’re actually in. I’m a wealthy man, and not without enemies. Fuck! I tear my hands through my hair at the possibility of them being at risk.
I fucking hate that there’s nothing to do but wait, a tiger in a cage, planning what I’ll do to whoever’s responsible when I find them. Even if it’s just the two of them who ran off without telling anyone.
The doorbell cuts through my thoughts like a blade.
I jog to the door, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wants to break free.
When I see Moira through the peephole, relief crashes through me for half a second before it’s replaced by something darker. Where there’s Moira, there should be Mads. But Mads isn’t here. I shoot off a quick tex, then yank open the door.
I plant my arm against the frame, blocking her way even as my eyes scan her for injuries. A different brother would throw his arms around her. A different man. Especially when I see that she also looks like she’s been through hell—clothes wrinkled, hair a mess, a bruise forming on her cheek. My chest constricts, but I can’t let her see it. Fear has always made me cold. And mean.
“Where’s Mads?” I demand, my voice coming out sharper than I intended, edged with the fear that’s been eating me alive. Guilt immediately bites at me. Twenty seconds into seeing my little sister after she’s clearly been in danger, and I’m already bollocking it up.
She rolls her eyes, and I see a flash of hurt beneath the bravado. “Lost your fiancée?”
Every muscle in my body tenses. I want to grab her shoulders and shake her and demand answers, but I force myself to stay still, to stay in control. “Mads sent me a message saying she was leaving me. Then you go missing. Do you know where she is or not?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m here.” She shoves against my arm, pushing her way past me.
I barely move, sighing in relief at the press of her body against my arm. I’ve spent my whole life protecting my little sister, apart from the last year. I’ve been cold and cruel to her. I cut her off, telling myself it was for her own good. I don’t know if that’s true, or if I was just being a selfish prick. But fuck if I don’t love the little hooligan, and there’s a weight that lifts off my chest at having her here, safe. “Jesus, Moira.”
I watch as she flops onto my couch, stretching out in that deliberately provocative way of hers—always taking up space and demanding attention. The way that used to drive me mad but now just reminds me of how young she still is. How much she’s been through.
“Nice to see you too, big brother,” she quips. “Got anything to eat? Because I’m starving. And also, maybe, just maybe, you could show a little concern for your only sister who just escaped a goddamn hostage situation?”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut. Hostage? Oh fuck. It was everything out of the worst-case scenarios my head has been playing out over the last few days.
“Start talking,” I demand as I head for the kitchen. I should be checking if Moira’s okay, not interrogating her. But fear for Mads chokes out everything else. Why the fuck isn’t she here if Moira is? “And don’t leave anything out.”
I grab leftover lasagna from the fridge, my hands shaking slightly as I put it on a plate. I know I should apologize. I do want to tell Moira I’m sorry for how I’ve treated her and that I’m sorry for blaming her for what happened with Anna’s father. Sorry for not being the brother she deserves.
But the words stay locked in my throat.
First, Mads.
“Napkins, too!” she calls, and I grab some paper towels.
I drop the plate in front of her with none of the care I should show. I’m too fucking impatient. “Talk.”
She takes a big, dramatic bite, and I know she’s doing it to wind me up. Even in crisis, she has to push back, has to test the boundaries. “You sure you don’t want to ask me how I am first? Maybe offer me a hug, a ‘glad you’re alive, sis?’ No? Cool, cool.”
Shame burns in my stomach. But I can’t care about being a fucking failure of a brother right now.
“Moira,” I manage, my voice strained.
She sighs, dragging her fork through the sauce. “Fine. Short version? Mads and I got snatched off the sidewalk, stashed in some abandoned warehouse by the river, and left to marinate in our own panic.”