Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
What would Mamá think now? Would she like Robin?
Yes.
She would.
She would like her fire. Her spine. Her refusal to soften just because the world has been hard on her.
She would also tell me to be careful.
Not because Robin is dangerous, but because wanting her is.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say.
Robin’s expression hardens. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Do the noble thing where you pretend you didn’t risk your life to get me here.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“No.” She leans forward. “You did what you chose to do. There’s a difference.”
I have no answer for that. She’s right. I did choose.
I chose her.
Not Vega. Not fear. Not survival.
Her.
“You should be careful,” I say. “Offering things to men like me.”
“Men like you?”
“Men with pasts.”
She shrugs. “Everyone has a past.”
“Not like mine.”
Her gaze darkens. “You don’t know everything about mine.”
Something in her voice… Robin carries something too. Something older than Adriana’s house. Older than Vega. Something that taught her how to survive.
She was kidnapped in Romania. I know that much.
What I don’t know is what she did to get through it. What she did to make sure she got out alive.
I want to know.
I want to know everything.
“For now, we get clean clothes,” I say. “Señora will take care of that. She has all kinds of clothes here. Then we go to the embassy.”
“And after that?”
“After that, Robin, we see what’s left of both of us.”
Her face softens, but only for a second.
I think of the Ace of Hearts on the kitchen table and hate myself for remembering it.
I think of the Ace of Spades and hate myself for fearing it.
Then I look at Robin Bellamy, and I make myself a promise.
No card gets to decide her ending.
No crime lord does either.
Anyone who tries to end her will have to go through me.
31
ROBIN
After that, Robin, we see what’s left of both of us.
I stare at Cruz.
I should say something practical. Something about clothes, food, the embassy, transportation, how long we can reasonably stay here without getting Señora Valentina and the others killed. I should ask him if he knows anyone who can get us fake IDs. I should be thinking like a Bellamy.
I’m not thinking like a Bellamy.
I want to tell him I’ll use every option at my disposal to get him to Texas safely. I’ll talk to Hawk. I’ll talk to Vinnie. I’ll talk to every lawyer, fixer, former federal agent, rich family connection, and morally questionable person my family has ever dealt with.
I want to say I’ll marry you.
And it won’t be a marriage of convenience.
It will be real.
A marriage of truth.
Because for some unexplainable reason, I’m falling head over heels for Cruz Moreno. Even though I shouldn’t. Even though I should be getting as far away from him as humanly possible. Even though he’s the exact kind of man I know better than to want.
Forbidden fruit.
It’s true. Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.
What if this man and I are fated to be together? Not forbidden fruit, but forbidden fate?
I almost laugh out loud because the thought is so dramatic I should be embarrassed by it. Forbidden fate? Please. It sounds like something written on the back of a paperback with a shirtless man and a stormy sky.
Except my heart doesn’t laugh.
Maybe there are some people you meet and your body knows before your brain does. Not safely. Not logically. But perfectly.
Cruz watches me from where he stands near the center of the room. His face is guarded but not cold. He never looks at me coldly. Not anymore.
That’s another problem.
I can tell the difference now.
I can tell when he’s shutting down because something hurts. I can tell when he’s forcing himself to stay calm. I can tell when he’s trying not to reach for me. I can tell when he wants something and hates himself for wanting it. That one’s especially easy, because I feel it too.
I tear my gaze away and look toward the window. Outside, morning continues as if everything is normal.
“This is different,” I whisper.
Cruz goes still. “What?”
I didn’t mean to say it aloud. “Nothing.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
“Well, it was.”
He doesn’t push.
That makes it worse.
If he pushed, I could snap at him. If he demanded answers, I could get irritated. Instead he’s patient.
So different.
So different from Ştefan.
Weeks have gone by.
At the beginning, my fear was sharp. Every footstep could have meant death. Every locked door felt so final.
Now?
I’m still scared shitless, but the fear is quieter.
I mean, I’m still alive, so that’s a thing.
The house is somewhere remote. I know that much. Not a castle, despite every stupid vampire joke people make about Transylvania back home. It’s a farmhouse or a hunting lodge or some half-abandoned property tucked far enough away that screams don’t matter.
Men come and go.
Boots in the hall.
Cigarette smoke.
Vodka.
Arguments.
Laughter that makes my skin crawl.
The other girls have turned on me. They hate that I won’t give a name for ransom. They don’t believe that I have no one. Denisa refuses to even translate for me anymore.