Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he reassures me.
I squeeze his fingers. “You haven’t, either. If I’m not guilty for doing what it takes to survive, then you aren’t, either.”
He said the men he killed in the ring were criminals, but I can tell it bothers him that he took their lives.
We’re morally grey in the same way.
How can I judge him when we’re alike?
“I changed my name to run away from Karolina Taylor. I’ve been running from what I did for years, but I don’t think I’ll ever fully escape my foster home. Some part of me will always be haunted by what happened there.”
His thumb rubs my chilled knuckles. “The past can’t hurt you anymore. You’re with me now.”
I shudder as dark memories come flooding back. “It’s not just what I did to Carter and Brandon. The things that happened to me after I lost my parents…”
My throat closes, choking off my ability to speak.
“Breathe, Karolina.”
My name. My real name. He sees me like no one else.
I drag in a shaky breath.
“Good girl. Another.”
The praise bolsters me, and warmth blooms in my chest. It chases some of the chill away.
“Will you tell me about it?” he asks. “About your foster home.”
I stiffen.
“Keep breathing. That’s it.”
With his encouragement, I manage to stay grounded in the present with him.
“I’ve tried not to think about it for so long,” I say. “But everything that happened with my stalker has been stirring my worst memories. When he pushed me into the river, I thought…”
My throat closes again, but Rand draws in another deep breath. I mirror him.
“You said your parents drowned,” he recalls. “Being in caught in the river current would’ve been traumatic for anyone, but I understand why it was especially triggering for you.”
“It’s not just that. My foster mom…”
His fingers tighten around mine. “Tell me what she did to you.”
Goosebumps break out on my skin, as though my head is submerged in icy water again, Shirley’s fingernails digging into the back of my skull.
“She threatened to drown me as a punishment. I don’t think she would’ve actually killed me,” I add bitterly. “She was too intent on making me a star ballerina to lose out on the prestige. She was…strict.”
The fiery pain of her cane lashing me when I failed to perform perfectly is a phantom burn on the backs of my thighs.
That corporal correction was practically a blessing compared to what happened when I refused to dance for her. She knew how holding my head underwater would trigger my worst trauma.
“She was a psychopath,” Rand growls.
“Yes,” I agree. “All she cared about was fostering children she could mold into prodigies. She picked me because she thought my talent would reflect well on her.” I grimace. “I’ll never dance again.”
“You shouldn’t let her take that from you,” he murmurs, and I flinch.
“Never again,” I repeat, emphatic.
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but I can read the regret in his eyes. He hates that my passion was abused out of me.
Rand truly does care about me. He wants me to be happy and safe.
No one has wanted that for me in so long.
I want it, too.
7
RAND
As we pull up to my country manor, I’m distracted by the burning need to call Ghost. I need to know who approached her in Brownie Bakehouse. I have to know who to kill slowly.
But that will have to wait. I focus on Karolina to quell my murderous impulses. The sight of her calms me like nothing else.
She’s staring out the car window, eyes wide. “This is your house?”
We reach the end of the long, private driveway, and I park in front of the sprawling Edwardian manor.
It’s too soon to tell her that I bought it for her. I don’t want to scare her again.
Karolina has forgiven me. By some miracle, I’ve managed to earn her trust. She told me her real name, even though I’ve always known exactly who she is.
Disquiet makes my gut churn. I’m still keeping so many secrets from her.
I harden my resolve as I get out of the car and circle it to open her door. When I take her hand in mine, all that matters is our connection. Nothing will stop me from claiming her again, not even guilt over my own duplicity.
I’ve been honest about the fact that I killed when I was part of the underground fighting ring. It seems she can live with that.
But if she ever finds out that I was a coldblooded assassin, she’ll run screaming. Even when we were teenagers, I never shared the full truth of what I am—the curse that taints my blood. My black soul makes killing as natural as breathing. Their deaths mean nothing to me, and I would do it again a thousand times if that’s what it takes to have her.