Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
"For loving my sister?" she says. "Don’t you ever fucking apologize for that again."
"No," I say quietly. "I just… I want to stay strong for you. That’s what Mariah would’ve wanted."
She rests her hand on my cheek and holds my gaze with hers. Her voice is strong now. Certain.
"And at what point," she whispers, "have you ever stopped being strong for me?"
"God, Ruthie."
I tug her to my chest and hold her in a hug, one hand on the back of her head, my other arm wrapped around her—because I never wanna let go. Never.
“Oh look, there’s a little fridge in here,” she whispers.
And I finally release her.
“Maybe there’s water?”
She opens it and finds two bottles of water. “Almost as if somebody knew we’d either be crying or drunk or both,” she says and hands me a bottle. I twist off the top and quietly drink the water. Funny how a cold bottle of water actually does help.
“Come on,” I say quietly, patting the bed next to me. “Get in bed. I won’t touch you.”
“What if I want you to?” she says with a giggle. And this time, she doesn’t meet my eyes. “I mean, you don’t have to feel me up or anything, but… might be nice to fall asleep next to each other? And…”
I roll her over and give her ass a good, hard swat. My hand is big, so it covers a lot of real estate. “Behave, woman.”
“My fucking god, your hand is like a paddle!” Her cheeks are flushed as she rolls over.
“I said behave and go to sleep,” I growl.
“Fine,” she says, and I don’t miss the little smile she gives me.
She nestles down beside me, chasing sleep. And right now, sex is the furthest thing from my mind—because my arm is around her, and she’s tucked up against my chest, and I realize just how much I fucking miss this. Holding someone. Protecting them. It fulfills something primal in me.
It doesn’t take long for her breathing to slow.
And it doesn’t take long for me to get turned on. I can’t help it—it’s just life. I pull back a little, just to give her space, but I keep my arm around her. My eyes feel so heavy.
I wake up the next morning, my arm still draped over Ruthie. It’s the first night I’ve slept through since Mariah died.
I tell myself it’s because we’re in the safe house, my brothers are here, and there’s no fucking way anybody’s getting to the people I love—not while we’re here. But I know, deep down, it’s due in some part to the beautiful woman beside me.
She’s snoring, and there’s a line of drool stretching from her lip to the pillow. I can’t help it—I laugh out loud, which jolts her.
“What?” she says, blinking, startled. “Rude.”
She sees me grinning. “Whatever. That’s what happens when people sleep. Forgive me if I was fucking exhausted.”
“Not judging,” I tell her. I roll over and stretch my arms above my head, adjusting the sheets around me so she doesn’t see the raging fucking wood I woke up with. Natural biological thing, sure—but something tells me it would complicate things. I’m a big guy, and I’m pretty sure she notices.
She stretches, too, arms over her head, and yawns like a cat. “Did you sleep?”
“Like a fucking baby. You?”
“Yeah. You know, it’s so strange that people say, ‘slept like a baby.’ Babies sleep like shit,” she says, shaking her head.
I laugh. “Luka did. You remember that?”
“Do I remember that? I thought we were gonna have to commit my sister.” She shakes her head again. “I’ve never seen a human being so sleep-deprived in my life.”
I smile, staring up at the flat white ceiling, one arm above my head, the other folded across my chest. “She was so insistent on breastfeeding him. She’d barely let me touch him. All night, I swear to fuck, she was up every hour with that kid.”
“But she pulled through, didn’t she?” Ruthie says.
“She did,” I agree. “It’s the one thing you can say about you girls. You don’t give up easily.”
“You definitely didn’t,” she says, shaking her head.
The smell of coffee and bacon wafts through the air. My stomach rumbles.
“I’m gonna go see if Luka is up.”
“I’ll see too,” she says, pushing out of bed.
The loose T-shirt she’s wearing has ridden up during the night, exposing her back—and I realize for the first time, it’s covered in ink.
“Wait a minute,” I say, voice going stern. “When the fuck did you get a back tattoo?”
She starts tugging her shirt down.
“Ruthie!”
“What?”
“Did Mariah know about this?”
“She did not. Why would she have to know about my tattoos? I’m an adult.”
I lower my voice dangerously. “Were you an adult when you got them?”
“Does that matter?” she snaps back, answering her own question.
“It fucking does. Your sister would’ve killed you. Let me see.”