Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Fuck me, it was spectacular.
A pencil drawing, realistic and shaded to its finest detail, like an old black and white picture.
The portrait of a man was vivid, alive, and…familiar. Very familiar.
Hold. The. Fuck. Up.
Tate Blackthorn.
My wife drew Tate Blackthorn’s entire dick-ass face. From memory. Smoking a cigarette, staring into an invisible camera, his cocky half-smirk on full display.
The urge to burn down the sketchbook along with the entire street slammed into me, but I suppressed it. Of course, my wife, who was knocked up with someone else’s baby, was also obsessed with my archenemy.
Of. Fucking. Course.
Perhaps she wasn’t raped, after all? Tate was at Luca’s wedding. She obviously adored the motherfucker. Yes, he was married, but he wouldn’t be the first filthy rich mogul to cheat on his wife when a young, pretty thing dangled herself in front of him.
What if she opened those creamy legs of hers for him?
I tipped my head back, taking a deep, greedy breath. My list of people to murder kept growing. The saying was accurate—there really was no rest for the wicked. But, I mean, a fucking afternoon off wouldn’t hurt.
Tate lived in the UK. I didn’t have time to start expanding my business into Europe.
Her drawing subject aside, my wife was either a savant or a genius. For her sake, I hoped she was the former. I’d hate to kill her and the unborn baby in her belly.
No.
That wasn’t true.
The truth was, killing them would solve many of my problems. It’d just create a thousand new ones in the process.
Feeling much less inclined to honor her privacy now, I dropped the sketchbook on her nightstand, proceeding into her walk-in closet.
She was, indeed, dressed.
She also had her head buried in a cell phone she wasn’t supposed to own, sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes glued to the screen. Her pupils moved from side to side.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
She can read.
Venom spread inside my veins.
Can you read?
What else can you do?
Are you here to spy?
Is Blackthorn your baby daddy?
Are you texting him now?
I wanted to pick her up, pin her to her bed, and fuck every single answer out of her.
Or, I marveled, maybe she was watching something. Her mother mentioned she let her watch classical concerts. After all, this wasn’t the response of someone who was just caught doing something they shouldn’t. She completely ignored my presence.
I rapped on the wall, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe.
She didn’t look up.
Little shit.
I stepped inside, entering her line of vision. Her head jolted up, and her mouth dropped open.
Recognition and horror filled her pretty eyes.
“Hello, wifey.”
She scrambled to her feet, shoving the phone into her pocket and jutting her chin up defiantly. The facade of an insentient child was slipping almost as fast as my patience for this marriage.
I knew asking outright wouldn’t get me anywhere. Lila was a Ferrante through and through. If not by blood, then by nature. I couldn’t break her through torture.
But hey, it’d still be fun trying.
“Do you like fucking married men, Gealach?” I pushed off the doorframe, entering her domain. After that sketchbook, she couldn’t convince me she was intellectually challenged if her life depended on it. In a way, it did.
She stared at me steadily, refusing to balk.
“Do you like spreading your legs for older men?” I strolled leisurely in her direction. Blackthorn was twice her age. She had no business sucking the old man’s cock.
“Do you call him Daddy?” I taunted.
She answered with a slow, bored blink. She wasn’t going to fall down on her knees and beg for forgiveness. My young wife had pride, and fire in her eyes.
I stopped when my abs were flush against her chest. She was tiny. Finishing her would be easier than killing a fly.
“You know he’d never leave his wife for you.” I arched an eyebrow, smirking. “He’s crazy about her. Was fully prepared to give me the keys to his kingdom when I kidnapped her. You were just a quick fuck.”
Her cheeks flushed, and finally, finally, the mask slipped and her emotions showed.
“Did you fuck him?” I palmed her face, tilting it up, forcing her to stare at the grotesque husband of hers. Without the eye. Without the soul.
Her nostrils flared. She said nothing.
“Answer.” I clutched her jaw tightly.
She spat in my face in response. Her saliva hit my left cheek.
“Grave mistake, sweetheart.”
It was time to terrorize an answer out of her.
I reared my fist backward.
Lila whipped her head sideways, bracing herself for the hit, but didn’t close her eyes. Her jaw locked, her eyes blazed with anger. My knuckles landed square against the wall above her shoulder, denting it. The crack looked like spiderwebs.
A soft gasp escaped her. The first time she made a sound. It was so fucking soft I second-guessed I really heard it.
Shit. What was I doing, unraveling over a child bride?