Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
We're not safe yet. Not by a long shot.
But we're together.
And god help anyone who tries to take that away.
Cavin still holds his gun. “You’re wrecked, love,” I say.
“I know it,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve had worse. We’re headed to your family’s house. Let’s see what we can find.”
When we reach my family’s home, the others file out of the van quickly. “Stand behind me. Careful, Erin,” Cavin says, slowly leading me to the front door. “We don’t know where anyone is.”
“Do you hear voices in the kitchen?”
By the time we get to the kitchen, my parents are surrounded by Seamus, Daire, and Ciarán.
“Found them,” Seamus says. “Erin, I’m sorry, but they have to go into custody until I have answers.”
I nod, even as my eyes go watery and a lump forms in my throat. “Aye. I know.”
“Erin!” My mother reaches for me, her eyes wide and terrified. And that’s when I see him—Dr. Rosenberg, sitting at the kitchen table, watching all of us placidly.
“Dr. Rosenberg!”
He nods in greeting.
I sink into a chair before my legs give out.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Erin
We are a fucking disaster. Cavin's sprawled on the bed, blood dried on his knuckles, bruising already blooming across his ribs. There's a cut above his eyebrow—it hurts like hell and probably needs stitches.
I'm not much better with my scraped knees and bruised and cut-up wrists. Everything hurts.
“We need to move,” I say quietly.
“Shower, meds, bed.” He grunts, but doesn't open his eyes.
“Cavin.”
“Five more minutes.”
“You're bleeding on your fancy sheets.”
“Fuck the sheets.” But then he shifts anyway, wincing. “Christ.”
I drag myself upright, every muscle screaming. “Come on. Shower first. Then we'll find the pain meds.”
The bathroom is all marble and golden fixtures—wealth evident even in the smallest details. I turn on the shower, and steam immediately fills the space.
Cavin leans against the doorframe, watching me with hooded eyes. There's blood on his shoulders and streaked across his jaw.
“Can you stand?” I ask.
“Can you?”
“Fair point.”
We strip slowly, carefully. “Jesus, Erin.” He glances down at my torso—bruises, lots of them.
We step into the shower together. The hot water feels glorious, soothing sore muscles even while stinging every cut and scrape. Cavin hisses through his teeth.
“Steady,” I murmur.
“I’m grand.”
“Oh, you liar.”
I get him under the spray, letting the water wash away the worst of the blood. “I talked to Bridget,” I say quietly. “She's doing alright. I only told her a little—just a wee bit.” I steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Lean on me. I don't want you falling and hitting your head again.”
He does, his weight settling against my shoulder. We stand there, letting the water wash away the evidence of tonight's violence.
I reach for the soap and start cleaning him gently. The cuts look raw and angry. He winces, but he's been through worse.
“You are not allowed to fight anyone, protect anyone, or go into the ring for like… forever.”
“That right, lass?” he asks with a smirk. “You’re the boss of me now?”
“I’m your wife.”
My hands move to his chest, careful around the worst of it. He flinches when I touch his ribs.
“Bruised or broken?”
“Bruised, probably.”
“We should get you checked out.”
“Later.” He leans on me and lets me keep washing.
When I'm done, he takes the soap from my hands. “My turn.”
His touch is gentler, reverent almost, like he's afraid I'll shatter. I feel like maybe I will.
When we're both clean, or as clean as we're getting, I turn off the water. We dry in silence, but he cups my jaw, rubbing his thumb over my lips. Then he leans down and presses his mouth to mine.
“My love, it's going to be alright. It's all going to be alright. No more tribute. No more debts. No more blackmail.”
“Aye. But my parents…”
He sighs. “I don’t suspect your mother was in on this. Your father was. You know the rules.”
I nod. I do.
“Exile or death. I’ll make sure it’s the first option. I’d bet anything your father’s selfish and desperate, not dangerous.” He kisses my cheek. “He doesn’t have an heir to his throne, so his only option would be a power move, like this.”
“Please, Cavin. Exile,” I whisper. “My father and I have never been close, but I can’t imagine what—what it would do to Bridget.”
“You have my word, love.”
He frowns when he gets a text. He turns his phone to show me. “It’s Kyla.”
Kyla
You told me to find out who was posting to the St. Albert’s account. Bronwyn and I have been on it. And it’s strange, Cav, but we discovered who. It’s the photographer from the wedding, brother. Him, and Donovan
He shakes his head. “Of course. God. The photographer? The one my cousin Donovan just happened to defend for no reason.”
“Oh god.”
Cavin shakes his head. “He was there the night my car was bombed, there the day Bronwyn was taken, there the day she came back, and we had no security feed.” He sighs. “You were right. I didn’t want to believe you, but you were right.”