Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 104127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104127 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
The thing is, Lucinda doesn’t know about my dreams of Juilliard. Hell, she doesn’t even know I play the cello.
No one does, to be honest.
Roman knew.
But he’s gone.
My stomach sours as I walk through the hall, making my way to my door. I’m not sure if it’s from my wayward thoughts or the smell permeating the area. Someone must have left their garbage out, which I wish I could say wasn’t a typical occurrence. It is. People just don’t respect others.
Who knows, but I could throw up all the same.
The lights above flicker, making me blink.
Those have needed changing for some time, but I can’t be the one to say anything. Technically, I’m not supposed to be renting Lucinda’s apartment. It’s rent-controlled and not allowed to be sublet, per the landlord. It’s only worked out because I’m a good tenant that makes herself scarce and doesn’t cause any issues. However, it also means I have to suck it up and deal with the shit conditions that others impose on me.
I’m so focused on all the ways in which this building is falling apart that when I grab my key and push the door open, I almost miss the thumps of soft footsteps behind me.
My hand stills, and I can feel the tickle of breath on the back of my neck.
Everything happens at warp speed from there.
A large hand covers my mouth, and I’m shoved through the door.
“Shh…” the voice coos in my ear. “I’ll let you go if you promise not to scream.”
No way am I not screaming. A strange man is in my home. His hands are covering my mouth.
Fuck that.
I’m screaming like a damn banshee the moment he removes his grip on me.
Only me. This shit only happens to me.
I have no idea who this crazy man is or what he wants. My heart rattles in my chest as I try to figure out what to do. Better yet, what does he want with me?
“Come on. Be a good girl, firefly. Nod your head…tell me that you’ll remain quiet.”
Firefly?
Where have I heard that nickname before?
“Careful, Firefly.”
My knees feel wobbly as the memory hits me. That was the random name Gideon Byrne called me at the funeral.
He’s the man holding me.
I stop struggling, but my pulse continues to race erratically.
He wouldn’t hurt me.
Would he?
Of course, he would. He’s an evil drug lord.
Why is he here? What have I done?
You insulted him in front of a room of people. Shit. Shit. Shit.
If I don’t nod my head, he’ll kill me. If I scream, he’ll definitely kill me.
Dead at twenty-one? Sounds about right.
I did my research on Gideon after Matt came to tell me what happened to Roman. I had to know what he’d been involved in to understand why anyone would want to torture him like they did.
Gideon Byrne won’t think twice about ending my life if I act out of turn, and I’m not in the mood to die today.
I give him the nod he’s been waiting for, and his hands drop. Now free from his arms, I turn to face him.
My arms cross over my chest protectively. “What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone.”
Even knowing who he is, I can’t seem to get my mouth to stop running away from me. This man brings out my fight.
He mirrors my stance, crossing his own arms over his chest. “Can’t do that.”
“Why the hell not?” I bark back, moving my hands to my hips. “This is ridiculous. Isn’t it bad enough he died because of you?”
“Now who’s being ridiculous.” He flicks invisible dust off his shirt sleeve.
Is he trying to piss me off?
I steel my spine. “I’m ridiculous? How so?”
“Your brother was a big boy, Sasha. His death isn’t on my shoulders.”
“My brother was a drug addict…and you are a drug—” He steps closer to me, his formidable frame too big for the small space.
“Careful what you say, firefly…I’d hate for you to lose your spark.”
I grit my teeth together. The man doesn’t make idle threats. “What do you want?”
His eyes explore my body up and down, and I have to force myself to remain still and not buckle under the weight of that heavy stare. It’s not sexual. If anything, it makes me feel inferior. Like he finds me wanting. I hate him.
“I need you to come with me,” he says, so nonchalantly I think I’ve misunderstood him for a moment. “Now.”
My mouth drops open at his words. No way did I hear that right.
“Are you insane?” I reply before I can think better of it. Surprisingly, he doesn’t take out a gun and shoot me in the head. Instead, he moves until our bodies are almost touching. I swear we are so close I can feel the way his chest vibrates as he breathes.