Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“So my father's enemies came for him one day," I tell her softly, even though my voice is still tight with emotion. "They broke into our home. My father didn't survive that day. His enemies made sure of it, and I was just a boy. Powerless."
"Ollie," she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
"I hid," I said in a whisper. “My mother and I hid and watched as they tortured and killed my father. I was just a kid, but even now, I’ll never forgive myself for hiding. For not stepping out and doing something—anything to stop them.”
She reached for my hand. "You couldn’t have stopped it, Ollie. You were just a boy, and no one could expect you to face that kind of danger alone. Your mother was probably only trying to save you.”
I shrugged. "I don’t know. It doesn't make it any easier. I think she wanted him to dead. He was terrible to her. I still wish I could've done something. If I could go back in time…"
We stood in the garden, the shared confession hanging in the air between us.
We’re ten minutes out from a small motel in the northernmost corner of upstate New York. It’s midnight, and Yelp assures me this place gets less than stellar reviews, but that’s not my priority. I’m less concerned about the condition of the place and more about its strategic location. The run-down motel sits on a rise, giving me a perfect vantage point—a place where I can see any threat long before it sees us.
“Oh my, honeymoon central, you’ve outdone yourself with this place Mr. Romanov,” Renata says sarcastically with a smile. “Hopefully the coffee’s good at least.”
I glance at the map again, confirming the terrain. If we’re lucky, this motel will give us the upper hand, making sure I can see any enemies before they see us. Aleks assured me no one’s followed us, but after the strange incident with the cloaked figure, I don’t trust anyone or anything.
No more strangely cloaked figures appear in the middle of nowhere. Renata has an endless list of who or what it might have been.
“Misplaced scarecrow, that’s it,” she says as she puts the car in park. I grunt in response. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.
I doubt it.
“You asked God to protect you from your enemies back there.”
“Did I?” She squints adorably, screwing up her face as if trying to remember. Moonlight illuminates the silvery length of her scar running down her cheek. I reach my hand out to touch her, and this time, she doesn’t flinch. This time, she places her hand atop mine.
My heart swells.
“What did I say?”
I repeat in a high-pitched voice. “¡Ay, Dios mío, protégeme de todos mis enemigos!”
She playfully punches my arm. “My father used to say that. I didn’t even realize that I did it. Where did you learn Spanish? You speak it beautifully.”
I shrug. “It’s one of my many talents.”
I see no evidence of anyone following us, so I carry our bags to the main desk and head inside. A scrawny teen with a scraggly beard sits at the main desk. It’s an older place but clean, with only one car in the main parking lot.
The teen behind the desk barely glances up as I approach, his attention glued to his phone screen.
I drop the bags on the counter, getting his attention. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in my size. Renata lingers just behind me, assessing the situation.
“I need a room.” My voice is flat, leaving no room for an argument.
The kid fumbles with the computer and frowns as he taps the keys. “Uh, yeah. I might have one or two available.” He raises a brow. “One queen or two doubles.”
I lean in closer. “My wife and I would like a queen. No kings?”
“We don’t have kings here.”
The kid’s eyes flicker nervously to Renata before quickly returning to the screen. Renata clears her throat and catches my attention. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she shakes her head at me.
“Are you sure about that?” she asks, her voice molten honey as she laces her hands around my arm. “I thought I read on the online that you had king-sized beds.” She leans in closer. “My husband barely fits on a queen himself, never mind when I join him.”
“Right, uh, we might, but I think we’re out…” he stammers.
I turn my arm over, showcasing Bratva ink. “You sure about that?” I ask calmly, belying the threat. This asshole’s used to throwing his weight around and bullying people just for the hell of it.
“I, uh… let me check again. I might have one more…”
I lean in slightly, looming over him. “Good idea,” I murmur. With shaking hands, he finally produces a key. “Here you go. Room 214, the one with a kitchenette.”