Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“Maybe start with me,” I murmur.
He glances at me. I’m sure there’s something he’s going to say. His jaw is clenched tightly. He turns back to the road.
“Well?”
“We need to get you someplace safe,” he says, tone growing dark. “That’s it. There’s nothing else on my mind except that. Everything else can come later.”
When we pull up outside my apartment building, a thought suddenly occurs to me. I forgive myself for not thinking of it sooner, considering everything that's happened.
“How do you know where I live?”
“There are records for everything a person has ever done,” he says. “Everywhere they’ve lived. Every job they’ve had. I accessed those records. And I’ve had my security team watching you, remember.”
A strange feeling grips me. I want to be angry. It would be so much easier if I could just rage at him. But that would ignore the fact that… yeah, part of me likes it. A little part. Part of me enjoys the thought of being watched over, of being protected, of not having to be the one in control all the time.
“You like crossing boundaries, huh, Maksim?”
He looks at me with those cold-yet-light eyes. It’s like he’s savage for the rest of the world but has a soft spot for me. It touches me in an intimate way. I think again of those romance books Mom used to read, wondering if falling that fast really is a fairytale. Now, it feels possible. It almost feels inevitable as we stare into each other’s eyes.
“With you,” he says fiercely.
He climbs from the car. I follow, experiencing that warm pang again when he stands so close to me, making sure nobody leaps from the dark. His arm brushes against me as we walk into my building. He scowls at the crumbling staircase and the graffiti on the wall.
“I know it’s not a palace,” I say defensively.
“You deserve somewhere better,” he says. “But I know it’s not your fault. I know you’ve got responsibilities.”
I blink. My eyes grow hot. More tears threaten. My emotions are all over the place at the moment. Could anybody blame me? My life has gone from work, Mom, home, work, to all this mayhem.
No one has ever acknowledged how tough it is. Tessa, a doctor from the hospital, knows a little. But I haven’t shared just how difficult it’s been, how tired I am all the time, the fact that I never felt like I got to grieve because I had to be there for Mom.
When we reach my floor, Maksim pushes me against the wall. He does it quickly, but he’s careful not to hurt me. He shields me with his big body and whispers, “Don’t make a sound. Your door is open.”
I’m aware of his hard body pushing against mine. He looks down at me with fire in those cold eyes. They’re hot now, burning, on fire. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters, and it makes me feel drunk. On him.
He approaches the door slowly. When he takes a gun from the back of his pants, a jolt of fear punches through me. I’m supposed to be curled up in bed, trying to summon the enthusiasm to watch a TV show or read a book before it’s time to get back on the grind tomorrow.
Instead, I’m staring at a man I may very well be attracted to, wondering if he’ll have to use that gun to kill men who want to kill me.
He pushes into the apartment. I look up and down the hallway, wondering if one of my neighbors will choose this moment to appear. But just like at work, we’re lucky.
Maksim emerges with a frown.
When I step inside, I see why. They’ve trashed the place.
My breath catches when I see a photo of me, Mom, and Evan on the floor, the picture frame shattered. All the cupboards are open. There’s trash everywhere. I try my best to keep it together. But when I find another shattered picture frame, the tears fall.
I collapse to my knees, grief gripping me. It’s like all the grief I’ve stowed away slams into me all at once.
“Liora,” he murmurs, kneeling next to me and putting his hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. These bastards have no respect. Who is that?”
I sniffle and look up at him. Something in my face must tell him how badly I need some support because he pulls me against him. I collapse into his chest, pressing my face against him. He holds me tight, running his fingers through my hair.
I’m not sure how long I cry for. I haven’t been held like this since Evan died. When I’m done, I’m shocked at myself at how much better I feel. I gently push him away, mumbling sorry.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he says fiercely.