Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I didn’t need to be strong anymore.
Julian could always be trusted with my softness, with my weakness.
The police were rushing in then, guns raised.
“It’s okay. You’re okay,” Julian said. “Marcus, give her your jacket,” he instructed as he lifted me up into his arms, careful to have my robe tucked under my body, so I was covered.
My father draped his jacket over my front, giving me more modesty as they both silently agreed to get me out of there.
I turned my face into Julian’s chest as we moved outside. Not wanting to see who might be watching. And not wanting them to see much of me either as Julian walked me over toward my father’s town car, then slid in the back with me.
My father didn’t immediately join us, so I figured he was likely speaking to the police.
“You’re okay, pet,” Julian assured me, pressing a kiss to my temple. “We’re going to get you home as soon as we can. We probably need to go to the precinct first, though. To give a statement. Can you do that?” he asked. “I’ll be right there in the next room.”
“Yeah,” I said, still feeling a little too numb to muster up any feeling in the words.
“It won’t be long, right, Marcus?” he asked, making me realize my father had joined us without my hearing.
“Half an hour, tops, they assured me.”
“Let’s get it over with then,” Julian said voice laced with concern.
__
True to his word, my father started throwing a fit the second the questioning went over half an hour, insisting that any further information could be provided after I recovered.
“Do you want to come back with me?” my father asked as we climbed back in his car.
“I want to go home,” I said, letting Julian pull me up against his side, then reaching to drape my legs over his.
“Okay,” my father said, watching us, then looking at Julian.
“Your father fired me today,” Julian said, making my head shoot up.
“What?”
“He caught wind of our… inappropriate behavior. From Stephen,” Julian added.
Anger started to boil, but I found myself still a bit too detached to muster full emotion.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re staying with me,” I said, leaning back into him. “Forever,” I added quietly.
“Yeah, I am, pet,” Julian agreed, giving me a squeeze.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Julian
If Marcus hadn’t stopped me, I never would have stopped. Not until skull and brain matter were splattered everywhere. Until his blood was painting the walls.
I guess I had to be thankful to the man for being there, for reeling me in, for refocusing me.
Because more important than making Gene pay, was assuring Scarlet that she was safe.
She was a bit in shock afterward, lost in her head. Even when she spoke to the police, recounting everything about Gene from him moving in with her, to the stalking, and, finally, the kidnapping, her voice had been robotic.
I couldn’t begin to pretend to know what was going on in her head. What she’d felt when she’d been trapped with that psychopath. The kind of cunning she’d needed to convince him to trust her. Then the bravery it took to be able to stab the bastard four times before I took him from her.
I got a text as I was carrying Scarlet to her bathroom, running her a hot bath, and dropping some of her bomb things into the water before stripping her, and lowering her in.
There were scrapes and grit on her legs from being on the floor. And some bruises on her skin from where the bastard had grabbed her.
But she was unharmed.
It could have been so much worse.
I reached for my phone as I turned out of the bathroom to go grab her a drink.
Drea had already dropped by to scoop up Hugh for us for the night, so I didn’t have to let him out or feed him.
Apparently, Marcus had heard back from the hospital.
Gene would live.
And he’d likely get a solid twenty-five years or more for what he’d done. Marcus’s lawyers would make sure of it.
He wouldn’t be a problem for us again.
I came back with the wine, watching as Scarlet sipped it in silent contemplation.
“Talk to me,” I begged as I knelt down beside the tub, reaching to brush a soap bubble off of her shoulder.
It was another long moment before her gaze slid to me.
“Can you do something for me?” she asked, voice hesitant.
“Anything.”
“Can you… fix this?” she asked, putting down her glass, then raising both of her wrists toward me.
Where there were two bruises forming in the shape of bracelets.
I knew from her report to the police that she’d been zip-tied.
“Fix it?” I asked, not understanding.
“He took something that means something to me, to us, and he made it ugly,” she said, eyes getting watery. “I need you to fix it.”
Fix it.
Meaning… she wanted me to… reclaim it? To bind her?