Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
The last sentence causes a shiver to run through me. I shouldn’t feel safe considering everything that’s going on, and yet, somehow, I do… for a few precious moments.
We eat the rest of our breakfast in silence, and soon enough it’s time to leave. Damian brings the car around back. I walk through his jungle-like garden and then climb into the passenger seat.
“Seatbelt,” he says before pulling off.
“For real?”
He winks. “Safety first.”
It’s a simple moment of levity. It shouldn’t hit me like a ton of bricks, but it does. He drives through the city in his dark, sleek car, windows tinted. His eyes scanning the road relentlessly.
“Have you…” I hesitate. I need to stop. “Thought about yesterday? The gym?”
He glances at me. His expression screams yes. His eyes tell me it’s the only thing he’s been thinking about.
“Things will be simpler if we don’t do that or anything like that again.”
“You’re right,” I murmur, hiding my hurt. “Sure–yeah. Of course.”
“Even without all this going on, Celine, Julian’s my best friend. He’s my brother.”
“Even though he lied to you?”
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Yeah–even now.”
“Why did he lie? Why didn’t he tell you what Rico said?”
“I don’t know,” Damian says, clearly frustrated. “But it’s nothing good. I know that much.”
He drives through the city, a thin layer of white blanketing the roofs of cars and the sidewalk. When he stops outside the hospital, he scans the parking lot, never at ease.
“What are you going to do about Rico?” I ask, despite myself.
“It’s done,” he says gruffly, staring at me with no hint of shame.
“Done?”
“He’s dead. I killed him last night.”
I gasp. He said it so casually.
“He was going to wreck your life if given the chance. He’s done it to other women. He’s a scumbag.”
“Are you… like him?”
He grinds his teeth. “What the fuck are you asking me?”
“Like him,” I hiss. “Have you done the things he’s done?”
“How can you even ask me that?”
“You say that like I know you–like we’re not total strangers.”
He shakes his head sadly. “Fuck, Celine.”
His hurt makes me want to apologize, but no way.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he snarls. “I’m nothing like him. Nothing like any of them. I’m a Beast, not a fucking monster.”
Sorry, Damian. I know there’s a soft heart in there somewhere.
What am I even thinking?
“What time do you finish?” he asks.
“Seven.”
“See you then. Remember–call me if there’s a problem.”
I climb from the car, feeling his eyes on me. When I get to the main entrance, I look over my shoulder. He’s staring at me like his life depends on it.
CHAPTER 13
DAMIAN
The hole is more difficult to dig than usual. But I don’t mind the work. Winter ground, cold and icy. Rico’s dead eyes watch me from his spot leaning against a tree deep in the woods.
He’s even worse than Celine knows. He confessed some fucked-up things to me before he tasted my blade. Things I’ll never share with anyone. It’s for the Beast to carry.
Once he’s where he belongs, I drive back toward the city, calling Julian.
“She’s safe,” I tell him. “She’s at work and knows not to leave the building.”
He sighs. “Good.”
“I’m… sorry.” The words come out huskily.
I’m not apologizing for telling Celine about the mob.
I’m apologizing for the kiss. For the touching. Because I want to do it again… and again… and again.
“It’s done,” Julian says bluntly. “Just keep her safe.”
“How are things on your end? The Don suspect anything? Anyone else?”
“I’m walking the line,” he says, sounding tired. “But it’s getting tougher. Sooner or later, someone will have to make a move.”
But did you already make a move, Julian?
“Hmm,” I grunt.
I hang up, no warm feelings, a rift growing between us that was never there before.
As the city pierces the winter skyline, suspicion grips me, poisons me.
One step at a time, I remind myself.
When I pick Celine up, it’s like she’s made a conscious decision not to talk about anything that’s happening. She sits in the passenger seat with a breezy smile on her face. Probably forced, but no less beautiful.
“I think I’m going to watch a Christmas movie when I get in,” she says, looking out the window. “Curl up with some hot cocoa and disappear into my laptop.”
“You can use the TV,” I say. “Cost enough. Would be good to get some use out of it.”
She nods, keeping her eyes focused out the window. “Sure. Thanks.”
A long pause. I want to tell her she looks beautiful after a hard day of work, her hair frazzled, bags under her eyes from her lack of sleep. She looks gorgeous, stunning, powerful even. She looks real. And that’s the biggest gut punch of all.
“How was work?” I ask, trying to start a conversation.
“Hectic. A good distraction.”
“What movie are you going to watch?”
She finally turns to me, speaking with emphasis. “The Grinch.”