Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
The idea of going through another rape shook me to the core and grounded me back in reality. No way was I going to let that happen.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t know,” I promised, ignoring the knot forming in the pit of my stomach. “Don’t worry, Mama.”
She pulled me into a hug, her tears soaking the front of my lavender chiffon dress.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LILA
Another week passed.
I still couldn’t eat or sleep and was plagued with thoughts and fears about my faceless, nameless assailant. He was always there, prowling in the periphery of my existence, ready to pounce.
He was a free man. Living among the Camorra and Irish. After all—he was at Luca’s wedding on a secluded, invitation-only island. If he did it once, what stopped him from doing it again?
Tiernan had warned people off from touching me, but so did my family the minute I was born. If the monster who put a baby inside me didn’t fear Don Machiavelli, what guarantee did I have he’d fear my husband?
I was deathly afraid of meeting him again. Not just in reality, but also in a dream.
Because in my dreams, there were no Irish soldiers and security detail. No formidable, skull-collecting husband who broke the fingers of people who dared to touch his things. There were no gatekeepers. My rapist could saunter right in. Take me against my will again.
My brain swam with these thoughts all night, every night, but especially tonight, as I stared at the ceiling in my room, clutching my stomach in a death grip.
Snap out of it, Lila. You still need to find a way to escape this marriage and figure out your pregnancy. This is no time for a meltdown.
I thought back to what used to work when I was a small child and couldn’t fall asleep. Imma would make me warm milk with a spoonful of honey. Looking back, it very well could’ve been a placebo, but it always worked like a charm. Suddenly, I craved the strange drink, consumed by the thirst for it. Was this my first pregnancy craving?
Glancing at my new phone, I saw the hour was half past midnight. Still plenty of time before my husband returned home from his wicked biddings. I slid my feet into my fluffy slippers, cracked the door open, and crept down the hallway.
Rounding the corner where the hall kissed the living room and open-plan kitchen, I stopped dead in my tracks. The lights were off, save for the amethyst backsplash of the kitchen. The marble shone in soft purple, offering a clear view of the scene.
My husband, and the person he was with.
A woman with blond hair the same length and shade as mine was pinned to the kitchen island beneath him.
They were both fully dressed, but he was doing something mean to her from behind, holding the same position my horse, Silver Lady, took when the breeder brought a stallion to her.
He was mating her.
My mouth fell open, my throat parched with panic and horror. To make matters worse, the idiot wasn’t even entering the right hole.
The cell phone in my hand dropped to the floor. Both their gazes snapped to me at the sound. I stood there, in my stupid, stupid pink pajamas with the yellow and blue butterflies, and stared back in shock.
Even though I didn’t think things could get worse, somehow, they still did.
Tiernan picked up his pace, his good eye boring into mine. Cold. Hard. Dark as my most illicit, awful nightmares.
He was taunting me.
A moan of fury parked in the back of my throat. I didn’t let it loose.
He coiled his long, lithe fingers around the front of the woman’s neck, like she was an animal he was taming, not breaking his stare from mine. That was when I noticed she was wearing a pink, knee-length dress. A LoveShackFancy staple.
I recognized it, because it was mine.
He touched my clothes? Stole them? Gave them to his mistresses?
My heart pounded furiously. Mama was right. Men were the work of the devil. I was never going to let him touch me.
“Jesus Christ, Callaghan.” The woman snapped her head back from the kitchen island, her eyes flaring at the sight of me. Her forehead had a red mark from being pressed against the hard surface. She looked nothing like me, despite the general characteristics. Her eyes were dark and a little too far apart, her mouth thin and wide, and her nose slightly crooked. “Your wife’s awake!”
Tiernan grabbed her by the hair, pinning her cheek back to the kitchen island so that she faced me. He closed his eye, looking tortured. “Shut up.”
“She’s watching.”
He thrust harder, deeper into her.
“She’s not firing on all cylinders,” he muttered.
Oh my God, my mind screamed. What do I do?
I could run back into my room and lock the door. Every cell in my brain commanded me to do that. But that would be the logical, perceptive thing to do. Tiernan was not supposed to know I understood societal situations. Especially after I messed it up our first night together, tried to kill him twice, then cut him up the way he’d asked.