Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Black jacket. Black jeans. His nails are yellow and dirty. His lips pull back in a snarl, showing off clean white teeth.
“Real bad timing,” he growls as his fingers dig into my windpipe. It hurts and I can’t breathe. “I’m going to get in trouble for this.”
Then let go. Please let go. Please, please, please, I just decided I want to live, I just decided I want to be with my husband, please don’t kill me—
But I can’t make a sound. I gag and choke, struggling weakly against him, but the man’s too strong and too big. I’m dizzy and more spots are forming in my vision. They’re growing bigger, starting to eat my world like hungry black holes.
“What a mess,” the man sighs, shaking his head, tightening his grip. “Gonna be a long night.”
Please don’t do this. Please, I can’t, I won’t, please… Stefano… I don’t want… please…
Chapter 24
Stefano
The sound of breaking glass wakes me. I stare at the ceiling, frowning to myself, waiting for more noise. There’s nobody in the bed beside me. I reach out and don’t feel her, aware that I’d break the rule if I touched her. But not caring.
Something’s wrong.
There’s a thud. Followed by another. Slowly, I kick the sheets off, listening.
Something’s fucking wrong.
It’s late. A little past midnight. Charlie should be asleep beside me. Was that really glass? Or was it part of a dream? I drift toward the bedroom door and find it’s slightly open. Like someone didn’t close it all the way.
Something’s wrong.
I drift into the hall, listening. I’m almost about to go back to bed when there’s another thump. Weak this time. Barely audible. But it’s definitely coming from the back of the house. I hurry toward my office, heart racing, adrenaline hitting my veins.
There’s a light on inside. Nobody should be in there.
What the hell is happening?
I grab the knob, and that’s when I hear a whisper.
A man’s voice.
Fuck. Rage hits me like a hurricane.
I rip the door open, not sure what I’m going to find.
And stare at a stranger kneeling on my wife’s arms, pinning her to the floor, his hands wrapped around her throat. Her face is twisted, her lips blue.
“Charlie!” I scream and throw myself at the man.
He grunts in surprise as I slam into his back. I tear him free of my wife and my whole world goes red. Violence, blood, death, pain. That man was trying to kill my wife. He was strangling her, staring into her face, murdering her in my own fucking house.
He tries to fight back but I’m an animal. I can’t think, can’t breathe. All I know is pain. I smash my fist into his face and feel his nose break. Blood splatters down his mouth and chest. I hit him again and again, until his blood splatters my face, my bare chest. I’m in a pair of boxer briefs. I don’t care. I hit him until his teeth cave in. Until his face is pulp and he’s not resisting anymore. I keep hitting him, and soon my fist hits the floor, straight through his completely ruined skull. Bits of his brain and nasal passages are scattered in a smear underneath me and he’s a bloody wreck. Barely recognizable as a human anymore.
I sit there gasping for air, sweat and blood drenching my bare chest, and only then do I have enough humanity left in me to turn and look for her.
Charlie.
Fuck. Charlie!
I find her leaning back against a chair. Her eyes are bloodshot and she’s got one hand pressed to her chest, but she’s breathing. She’s conscious.
God, she’s alive.
I grab her and pull her against me. “Are you okay?” I snarl, checking her over, lightly touching her throat. “Fuck, baby, are you okay? Talk to me, please.”
Her voice is hoarse as she lightly touches my chest. “You’re breaking the rule.”
“Fuck the rule.” I hug her close, relief flooding through me. I could fucking sob right now. Emotions swirl in my chest, and I didn’t even know I had this much feeling left in me. But seeing her there under that bastard, that blood smear on the floor, her face blue and clearly dying, broke something in me.
I lift her into my arms and carry her into our bathroom. I draw a bath, getting the water warm and stripping her down. She lets me without complaint. I get her into the water and join her, blood sloughing off my skin as I drag her into my lap, holding her tight.
“You need a doctor.” I breathe in the smell of her hair. I revel in the beating of her heart and the steady rise and fall of her chest.
“I think the guy in your office needs a coroner.”
“A coroner’s too good for him.”
“At this point, we’re going to need dental records to identify him.”