Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
“Wipe off that expression of yours,” Romeo demanded. He really had an issue with everything I did. Or didn’t do.
“What expression?”
“The one that plans to tarnish every single piece of furniture in my house in retaliation.”
It hadn’t even occurred to me. I preferred to deliver my revenge with finesse. But I certainly wouldn’t reassure him.
“No promises.”
“You’re going to be a headache, aren’t you?”
“A headache?” I cocked my head. “You kidnapped me, you psycho. I’m not gonna be a headache. I’m going to be, at the very least, a deadly brain tumor.”
They say fate is nothing but the consequences of our decisions. Well, I planned on being the worst thing fate ever had in store for him.
“Fine,” he bit out. “You get one.”
“Theo James,” I said without missing a beat. “On the off chance I ever meet him.”
“I wasn’t giving you a free pass with a celebrity.” Romeo’s face clouded. Clearly appalled by my answer. “I meant one wish.” He scanned my face, like he already regretted extending an olive branch. “One thing you can request of me. I’ll give it to you. No questions asked.”
I side-eyed him. “What’s the catch?”
“You need to promise you’ll behave.”
I would never behave. But my anger wouldn’t allow me to keep my mouth shut, either. A bitter smile carved up my cheeks. “You want to know what I wish for?”
His scowl told me the answer was no. The Maybach stopped in front of the estate’s double doors. I faced him, my gaze pinned on his, unblinking.
“My one and only wish is for you to die in my arms, Romeo Costa. I want to see you when you draw your last breath. To feel your skin turn cold and lifeless beneath my fingers. My wish is to witness your nostrils struggle to move as you consume oxygen for the last time.” I paused, drawing my hand to my chest. “I want to watch you suffer for all the suffering you did to me. And there is nothing and no one I want more in this life.”
Chapter Eleven
Dallas
Karma must be on a lunch break, because a full twenty-five minutes had elapsed since I wished my fiancé would drop dead, yet he remained very much alive.
So did my anger as I dragged my luggage to the doorsteps myself, waited for Romeo to finish a sudden business call, and debated whether to smash down his door with the shovel I’d spotted resting against the greenhouse.
In the end, I eavesdropped on the man I would soon share a home with. I sat on the top step and observed Romeo, elbow on my knee, chin clasped in my palm. The sun cracked through a marshmallow-white cloud, pouring the first rays of sunshine as dawn crawled up the sky. The light haloed around my fiancé. For a moment, he appeared angelic. Then he opened his mouth.
“The shipment requires extra security. I don’t have to tell you activity among armed rebels has spiked in recent months.” Pause. “Or do I?”
Weapons. They were talking about weapons. The imported snacks I’d eaten on the plane churned in my gut.
“Mess this up and I assure you, your next job will require an apron and extensive knowledge of operating an industrial fryer.”
Romeo killed the call and turned to me, again jarred and annoyed by my existence. “Hettie is in the kitchen, should you require food. If anything needs fixing, Vernon can be reached on the intercom. I understand it’ll be difficult for you, but refrain from wreaking havoc on my property. In the city, actually.”
“Yeah, because I’m the destructive one between us.” I rose, dusting off my sleeping gown. “Bro, you sell death for a living. Who are you trying to fool?”
“Next time you bro me, I will confiscate your phone, TV, and snacks. You will handle yourself in accordance with your pedigree.”
“I’m a person, not a golden retriever.” Then, before I forgot, I added, “Bro.”
A muscle in his jaw threatened to jump out of his skin. “Have you finished, Miss Townsend?”
“I haven’t started.” I clutched my suitcase handle. “You sell weapons to the highest bidder—”
“That is factually incorrect. It’s not always the highest bidder.” Already, he appeared bored with this conversation. “Unfortunately. Patriotism is the root of most geopolitical disputes and is too dichotomous for full-rounded individuals.”
That wasn’t even in English, so I refused to speak to his point.
“You provide armies with the means to kill people,” I explained, as though he was a toddler. “And you do it for the sake of money.”
“It’s not for money.”
“If not money, then what?”
He didn’t answer, advancing to the front door and entering the code. “4-8-1-0-4-3-2-4-1-5. The code rotates once a week.”
“You expect me to remember that?” At this point, I needed to build an ark to save myself from drowning in his bull-crap.
“There’s a cot in the shed, should you forget.”