Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I shrug, droplets of water sliding down my bare shoulders. “Not if she was being attacked. And we wouldn’t have even been in that position if you hadn’t been such a fucking idiot and gone back to where we had a giant target painted on us.” My voice rises slightly before I force it back down, conscious of Domhnall sleeping just beyond the door. “I was taking care of business and getting us out of there. It was just a matter of time before someone else from the past tracked us down. Frankly, I’m surprised there haven’t been more.”
“Why do you think we’re out here in the middle of nowhere on a ‘surprise early honeymoon?’” She makes air quotes, her mouth twisting bitterly.
“At least you did one thing right. Well, two things,” I concede grudgingly. “You’ve been trying to get me back, haven’t you?”
She nods sourly, crossing our arms over our naked chest, goosebumps rising on our skin as the heat from the shower begins to dissipate.
“Well, now I’m here. And we’ve got to run like we should have in the first place.”
She drops her arms, her expression shifting to something almost pleading. “Not so fast. We can’t spend our whole lives running. Why don’t we just tell Domhn what’s going on? His whole business is security, he could—”
“No,” I cut her off, my voice like a knife. “That’s exactly why we can’t involve him. Donny’s gone white hat these days. We can’t drag him back into the black.” I inhale sharply, the weight of what I’m about to say pressing down on me. “If we do this, we do it the right way. You know who the fuck we’re dealing with. There’s not a chance in hell I’m dragging Donny into any of this shit.”
She sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Then nods. “I know you’re right. I just...”
Her eyes in the mirror drift past me to the slight crack in the bathroom door, to where Domhnall sleeps distantly in the bed behind us. In the dim light, his profile is sharp and perfect, one arm still stretched across the empty space where I should be.
He’s beautiful, and so much more than perfect. Everything I never thought I could have. Everything I don’t deserve but somehow got anyway. For a little while.
I have to force a hardness that’s all pretense, because I have to be the strong one. That’s why Anna’s been calling to me and trying to pull me back out of the darkness.
She needs me to be the strong one.
It’s not just my role.
It’s who I am.
Strong, reckless, mad Madison. The one who gets things done and doesn’t weep about it afterward.
“We leave. Now,” I say, my voice leaving no room for argument.
I see the horror and pain in the mirror, and I don’t know if it’s Anna or me, but then I ruthlessly cut off the connection to her and take full control again. Her stupid fucking emotions are a liability we can’t afford right now.
I move through the bathroom silently, grabbing the plush hotel robe and slipping it on. I don’t pack a bag this time—we’re on borrowed time as it is.
I just change quickly into a pair of jeans and shirt, then take my purse with the fake passport and a wallet stuffed full of money I’ve been stashing away for exactly this scenario. I leave my phone and everything else behind. I need to be untraceable, a ghost sliding through the world.
I’m quiet as a mouse as I exit our suite, closing the door so slowly there’s barely any click as it latches shut behind me. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else as I move down the hallway, placing each bare foot with calculated precision.
The resort is hushed at this hour, that peculiar stillness that falls over luxury establishments in the dead of night. I slide past the kitchens where a lone staff member is prepping for breakfast, head down, focused on dough. I make it to the concierge station, where I’m greeted by the friendly Mr. Arnaud, our French concierge who’s been seeing to our every whim all week.
“Ah! Miss Halston,” he says, his voice professionally modulated to the perfect volume—not too loud, not too soft. “Can’t sleep? Would you like the pool? Or a blanket for stargazing? Some herbal tea perhaps to help with sleep?”
I force my features into what I hope passes for a normal expression. “Actually, can you call me a car? I need to get to the airport immediately.”
It’s clear what a consummate professional Mr. Arnaud is, because he barely blinks an eye before assuring me, “Of course, mademoiselle. I’ll have one of the drivers bring around a car at once, and they can take you anywhere you would like to go, including the airport. One of our many concierge services.” His eyes flick briefly to my empty hands. “They’ll be waiting out front if you need to go get bags...?”