Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
I expect a metal chair bolted to the floor, plastic sheeting, bloody instruments of torture—
But instead find Rafe puffing a cigar, his brother Kellan sitting across from him, both of them with their feet up on Rafe’s desk.
“Well, you two look comfortable,” I say, unable to hide my frustration.
Kellan cranes his neck toward me. “Hello, June, wonderful to see you again.” He puffs his cigar and climbs to his feet. “But I’m guessing based on the look on your face that this isn’t going to be a happy conversation.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“In that case—“ He salutes me with two fingers. “You can deal with the big boss directly. I’m done for the evening.”
“Don’t you dare leave me alone,” Rafe calls but Kellan only slips past me, an amused smile on his face.
I shut the door behind him and face my husband’s desk, my hands on my hips.
“What the hell happened to doing this together?” I try to keep the anger from my voice.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Cut the shit. You’ve been in here making grown men scream like scared children all day. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“Are they?” He looks amused. “I don’t know why.”
“It’s got to stop, Rafe.”
He considers me a moment. Now that I’m facing him alone, I can see the weariness in his eyes. His jacket is neatly folded and left on the couch and his sleeves are rolled up. His knuckles look split and bruised. There are a few pictures missing from the shelves and I spot some broken glass that wasn’t properly cleaned up.
“It can’t stop, not yet,” he says and there’s a deep note of sadness. “Believe me, love, I hate this as much as you do.”
“So why are you putting everyone through it?”
“Because it’s my job. Sit down and stop looking at me like that, would you?”
I glance at the chair. “Is this where your victims were sitting?”
He rubs his face and lets out an annoyed sigh. “Stop it and sit.” He takes a puff and leans back. “I’m the head of this organization, which means certain tasks are my responsibility, whether I like it or not. I can’t hand this over to someone else, not when your safety is on the line.”
“But Rafe, do you really have to torture them?”
“It’s not all like that. Mostly I’m asking questions. Not all of the men deserve more.”
“It sounds like you’re cutting off limbs.”
“I haven’t resorted to that yet.”
“Hattie can hear, you know.”
That makes him pause. He looks at the end of his cigar with a grimace. “Has she said anything?”
“Only that you’re working, which isn’t exactly healthy for a girl her age. Do you want her to get used to all this violence? Make her think it’s normal?”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Then I’ll tell you. As her mother, I think it’s best if we keep her as far away from this stuff as we can.”
“You may be right.” His voice is soft and distant. “I don’t know how to do this father thing.”
“You’re figuring it out.” Some of my anger eases. “But trust me for now. There’s got to be another way.”
“I’ll move to the garage, but I can’t stop.”
“Will she be able to hear the screams?”
“Most likely no, if you keep her away.”
I draw in a breath and lean back into the chair. “Fine. That’ll do.” I hesitate, glancing over my shoulder, and think of that conversation I heard between Nunzio and Byron. Something about him having to choose? I don’t know what it meant, but it sounded bad.
Only if I tell Rafe, what’ll happen to Byron?
The cook didn’t seem like he was on Rafe’s side. He actually sounded like he was protecting me and standing up for me. Can I really tell my husband about that conversation and risk getting Byron dragged in here and tortured?
I should say something, but I don’t.
Instead, Rafe wearily gestures at me. “Come here.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not in the mood to scream right now.”
“Get over here, you stubborn woman. I require comforting.”
I snort like that’s the most absurd idea in the world, but I stand and drift to him. “You need comforting? What about your victims?”
“They can rot for all I care,” he mutters and grabs my wrist, pulling me down into his lap. He lets the cigar rest in a crystal ashtray as I curl in against him.
His heart beats slow and steady. He’s warm and smells nice like whisky and smoke. I kiss his neck, near his collarbone, where his shirt’s open. He breathes in the scent of my hair.
When did this happen? When did it become normal to curl against him?
It feels good though. I can’t pretend like it doesn’t.
Like this is what I was made for.
“I’ll talk to Hattie. I’ll explain to her what she heard.”
“Seriously? How’s that going to work?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’ll come up with something. Even if it’s only halfway true.”