Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I had seen death before.
Adrian had snapped a man’s neck right in front of me, but this... this was different.
This was intimate. Brutal.
I had been mere inches away when Adrian slit Lucca’s throat.
And I had seen it all, slow and now etched into my memory, burned into my mind, never to be forgotten.
The way the man’s eyes had widened in terror before life drained from them.
The way the blood had sprayed from his jugular, arcing through the air to spatter across my face. The gurgling sound he made as he choked on his own blood. I had heard his final breath and smelled the copper tang of his life force as it emptied onto the floor.
And Adrian…
My husband had watched me the entire time, his cold blue eyes studying my reaction as he committed murder.
I had tried to remain composed, to show him that I wasn’t afraid. That his cruelty couldn’t break me. But inside, I had been screaming. Terrified. My heart had been hammering so hard I thought it might burst out and leave a gaping hole in my chest, if that was even possible.
My stomach heaved, and I doubled over, retching into the shower. Nothing came up but bile and the bitter taste of fear. I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, my body shaking uncontrollably.
“Stop,” I commanded myself, my voice echoing off the bathroom walls.
I needed to stop thinking.
I needed to… breathe.
I needed to remain calm.
But the images wouldn’t leave me. The knife. The blood. The way Adrian had looked at me afterward—expectant, almost proud, as if he were showing off his handiwork.
The water turned my skin bright red, nearly burning. My flesh felt like it would peel away from my bones, the heat almost unbearable but I couldn’t stop.
I can’t stop.
I couldn’t…
I scrubbed harder, desperate to feel clean, to feel anything but the horror that clung to me like a second skin.
When my flesh started to feel raw, when I could no longer distinguish between the pain of the hot water and the pain in my heart, I finally turned off the shower. I stood there, dripping, shivering despite the bathroom’s warmth.
I wrapped myself in a towel, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t want to see myself. I didn’t want to acknowledge the woman who had sat there, silent and still, as a man was slaughtered before her.
I dried myself quickly, my movements almost mechanical. More like a robot, less like a human. I pulled on a loose white nightgown, the fabric soft against my abused skin, the pure color a stark contrast to the violence that still echoed in my mind.
I walked out of the bathroom and my heart lurched to my throat before it then dipped to the pit of my stomach.
Adrian stood in the middle of my bedroom, his presence filling the space like a physical force.
How did he get in when I had locked the door?
No, that was a stupid question.
Of course, a locked door would never stop Adrian Salvatore.
He had showered too, it seemed. His dark hair was damp, tousled and curling slightly at the ends. He wore only a pair of black sweatpants that hung low on his hips, leaving his chest bare.
I inhaled, taking a deep breath to steady myself, to rebuild the walls my husband had so effectively shattered.
I couldn’t let Adrian see how much he had affected me.
I wouldn’t allow myself to give him that satisfaction.
“Get out,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
He didn’t move, but the muscles of his arms flexed, tightened. The tattoos coiling around his left arm seemed to come alive, to tell stories of violence and pain, stories I didn’t want to know. “We need to talk.”
My traitorous eyes traced the hard planes of his body, the defined muscles of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the powerful arms that had ended a man’s life with such casual brutality. His skin was still flushed from the shower, water droplets clinging to his broad shoulders, trailing down the valley between his pectorals.
He was beautiful. A monster, yes—but attractive in the way a hurricane was beautiful, in the way a wildfire was captivating. Dangerous. Uncontrollable.
And I loathed myself for noticing.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide the way my body was reacting to his presence.
His face was impassive, but his eyes... his eyes were dark with something I couldn’t name. They traveled over me, taking in my damp hair, my flushed skin, the way the thin nightgown clung to my still-wet body.
Adrian cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice low.
I blinked.
Silence filled the room after his confession.
I blinked again, confusion coursing through me.
And then I did the only thing I possibly could.
I laughed. Bitter. Cold. Humorless. “Is that supposed to be an apology? Because it’s the worst one I’ve ever heard.”