Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Leaning down, I give him a soft kiss on his cheek, careful not to put any weight on him or hurt him. When I walk out the door, Cressida follows, and I try not to look back.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
Victor steps out behind her, waiting for her to leave.
I wipe my face, which I’m sure is dirty.
“Yes. I need to take a shower.”
She smiles softly at me before she lays a hand on my arm, squeezing it. “I’m going to leave my number here if you need me. Please call or text. Whatever you need.” I nod, and she smiles before she goes back into the room.
Arlo arrives and takes one look at me before he storms past me and into the room. He starts talking, but I tune him out and turn my attention to Victor.
“He thinks you can babysit me?”
“He knows what a depraved little assassin you are,” he grumbles. “Move it, killer. I’m taking you home.” He steps past me, and as he does, I notice a woman walking toward us. I haven’t seen her before, but as she reaches the door, Soren appears. He says something to her, and she looks back at us.
“Her name is Maya. She’s Soren’s sister,” Victor says. “Crazy bitch, that one.”
He turns and heads down the hallway, and I have no reason not to follow.
FORTY
BOSTON
“Arlo, shut the fuck up,” I grumble.
He takes one look at my expression and shuts his mouth.
My attention shifts to Soren, who’s watching me closely, his sister Maya lingering just behind him.
“Maven said it was Rolland,” Soren says as he steps closer to the bed.
“Yes.” I move slightly, and the sting is fucking real. Shit, that burns like a bitch. “How long do I have to be in here?” I ask. He was here when I woke up, so I know he’d been sitting here with Maven.
“A week at least, depending on your recovery.”
“Is there anything I can get you?” Maya asks, and Soren glances back at her. They aren’t as close as they once were, but despite how crazy she is, I’ve never really minded her.
“No, Maya.” She nods and stays back where she is.
“Rolland knows about the Forsaken,” I tell Soren, who raises a brow.
“Yes, he knows,” Arlo confirms. “He wanted to join so he could take your position. But we don’t fucking work that way. If Marcus hadn’t been such a fucking gossip when he was drunk, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He gives me a serious look. “We’ll find him.”
“Don’t kill him,” I tell them. The room falls silent. “Do not kill him,” I emphasize. I don’t say out loud exactly what my plan for him is, but they seem to understand what I’m not saying. He may be of use if we keep him alive.
They linger around my room for at least another hour before Maven walks back in wearing clean clothes, her hair still wet from her shower. I can’t stop the smile curving my lips as I see her damp locks and think about how I had her in the shower less than twelve hours ago.
Everyone’s attention shifts to her.
“Maven,” Arlo says, nodding at her. Soren gives her a glance in acknowledgment, and she doesn’t even look in his direction as she makes her way to me.
As she takes the seat next to my bed, I can’t help but smile at her and ask, “What heels do you have on?”
“My black ones,” she answers.
“Are you into heels now, Boston?” Arlo jokes.
“Yes, he is. He likes to wear them when I fuck him,” Maven replies, making Arlo smirk and Soren shake his head.
“To each their own. I’m not going to judge your kink.” Arlo winks. We all know about what he likes to do with those beads he has wrapped around his hand.
“So, do you think you can all leave now?” Maven asks, glancing at all of them. Arlo looks at her, surprised, but I can tell he’s impressed by her. Join the club.
“I’ll keep you updated if I find out any information on where he is,” Soren says, then turns and leaves with Maya, Arlo following behind them.
And I’m finally alone with my wife.
“So, I think we need to have a discussion about us,” Maven says, sitting back in her seat. I can’t help but stare at her. She’s wearing a little white shirt, jeans, and a pair of black heels. Her blue hair is up in a messy bun, and not a lick of makeup graces her skin.
“What about us?” I ask.
“Well, how long was this arrangement meant to last?”
“Arrangement?” I ask, confused. “We’re married. There’s no fucking arrangement.”
“Okay, good, because somehow I cared when you got shot,” she admits. “I didn’t go after him. I totally would have gone after him if I didn’t care about you.” She looks everywhere but at me.