Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
But that boy was dead. None of him remained. I’d known that for a while, unable to admit that to myself.
“Protect me?” I choked out a half laugh. “You mean standing by while I was beaten and raped? Or sexually assaulting me in a room full of men playing poker, using me as nothing but a pawn?”
I could’ve sworn I saw a tic in his jaw, a flash in his eyes that looked like regret, shame. But it must’ve just been a trick of the light.
“No one walks away from them, Calliope,” he replied quietly. “Not even for a weekend, if they need them. But you’ve been gone a year. And they’ve needed you. They’ve missed your skills.”
I tried my best to swallow the dragon crawling up my throat.
Through great effort, my lips stretched to an upward tilt. “Or you’ve missed me, Jasper?” I spoke in a sultry tone. There was a fight to be fought here, and I had to do it smartly. As much as the idea of being seductive toward Jasper when Elliot’s scent and warmth still clung to me repulsed me.
Though I really, really didn’t want to get any closer to him, I rounded the counter, sauntering toward him, aware of how little I was wearing—just a workout bra and leggings.
Jasper turned his body to face my approach, his expression blank, but I didn’t miss the flare in his nostrils.
“You have missed me.” I clutched the lapels of his blazer, almost expecting it to coat my fingers in blood.
Jasper was impeccably groomed, not a speck of blood near him. He was always that way, even if he had just murdered someone ten minutes ago. He barely broke a sweat when he fucked me. Always so controlled. So emotionally distant. But none of that had stopped me reaching for him, had it? And I’d gotten proverbial blood all over my hands in the process, blood I was still trying to wash off.
“I get it.” I fluttered my eyelashes. “No one else measures up to me. You have to resort to stalking methods in order to have a conversation with me.” I hovered close to him, not willing to brush my body with his. “Unfortunately, that ship has sailed.” I dusted an imaginary fleck of dust from his lapel before stepping back.
“I haven’t missed you.” It was cruel, but cruelty was the only language I spoke. The only one he understood. “And I haven’t missed my work. Which is done with.” I made my tone inflexible.
“You’re not done, Calliope,” he said softly. “With your work. Or with me.”
I squared my shoulders. Apparently, a battle with Jasper was going to be my warmup for the kickboxing class I’d signed up for.
Before I could open my mouth and let out a thorned insult, my cell phone rang. I glanced at the screen, my body tensing as I read ‘Maybe Beau Shaw’ on the screen.
There was no reason for Beau Shaw to be calling me at 6:00 in the morning. Unless it was bad news.
Eyes on Jasper, I lifted the phone to my ear and answered. “What happened?” I forced calm into my voice because I didn’t want Jasper to have the satisfaction of seeing me panic and because I didn’t want there to be a reason to panic. Something could warrant the call that wasn’t a disaster.
But the second Beau spoke, I knew it was nothing less than catastrophe.
I froze as I listened to the person on the other end of the phone. The words.
Elliot. Fire. Accident. Hospital.
There were details padding the information, but I could barely hear them through the clamor in my ears.
I hung up the phone, staring at Jasper whose face was impassive. As it always was. But right then, I wanted to tear that blank look right off his fucking face.
“Elliot’s on the way to the hospital.” I was struggling to remain calm.
Jasper’s expression did not change. “Dangerous job. Putting out fires.”
I stepped forward. I wasn’t armed, wasn’t equipped to go up against someone as dangerous as Jasper, but with the acidic fury smoldering through me, I might have had a fighting chance. “A fire you set.”
A glint of something flashed in his eyes. Satisfaction. Warning. “Not as dangerous as thinking that something I own is his.”
I was thankful for the comment because it meant rage spewed up from inside me, overwhelming the terror I felt for Elliot.
I took another step forward, endorphins flooding my system, hands fisted, ready to plow through his face. “You do not own me,” I snarled. “Nor does he. But I am his. Simply because he does not want to own me.” I took another step forward. Our bodies were almost brushing, my chin tilted upward to meet his gaze. There was nothing intimate about my stance, though. I wanted to be as close to him as possible so he could see my eyes. See the truth in them.