Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
He heads into the garage off the side of the kitchen, and pulls down a white bait box. “We could go this weekend. Catch some big ones.”
I smile. “Okay.” I don’t know if I’ll be able to go on this fishing excursion, but I won’t tell my father that. I don’t know what Bane has scheduled for me. It’s a miracle he lets me out of the house occasionally. It’s not like I could go anywhere.
Where would I run?
Bane knows this. Bane knows he has me by a thread. It’s why he lets me have certain freedoms, because he knows if he didn’t it would probably raise more questions than it’s worth.
Bane knows that I know he’d hurt my father if I ever left. He’d hurt me too.
My father is my entire world. He’s the man who raised me when my mother walked away, and he’s always tried the best he can. Not his fault he has a gambling problem. It’s also not his fault he still can’t seem to stop gambling, even though he promised me he would.
Bane has blacklisted my father from making any bets with his bookies, and so far so good, but I need to look into this app on his phone more. I can’t have my father running up more debt.
Sacrificing my life for my father was never a big deal for me. It’s not like I had much going on anyway, and I couldn’t see any way out of our predicament.
But now I’m feeling anxious as the date marches closer. As reality slaps me in the face that I’ll be Mrs. Bane Delgado soon. My best-case scenario is that he is declared guilty and receives a lengthy jail term, but I’m realistic enough to know that’s unlikely.
In fact, I’m waiting for the day the case crumbles and Bane’s released from house arrest.
I’m sure it’ll happen soon.
My father shows me all the new bait he’s gotten, but I don’t really hear anything he’s saying. My mind is totally consumed by Ledger Thorne. I can’t stop thinking about him. Wondering if he’s thinking about me at this very moment.
My phone dings, and I pull it out of my purse while my father has moved on from the bait and plays with the app on his phone. I smile at Ledger’s text.
Good news. We do sell an orange-flavored cigar in the shop at the club. Nobody bought one the night of the attack, but we’re pulling up the sales for the month. Hopefully, we’ll have some answers soon.
I should just thank him for the update, but instead, I text back…
And here I thought you were missing me, but you’re acting like Sherlock Holmes, trying to solve the case. I appreciate it.
Maybe I do miss you.
Heat travels through me while reading his message. I want to bathe in the thrill I’m feeling right now. It’s dangerous, but exciting. I shouldn’t respond, but how can I not? My fingers tap away at the screen, writing out a response.
I’m sure you miss many women.
Ledger’s undeniable good looks probably result in him having many women he texts every day. His phone must buzz constantly from admirers. His captivating dark eyes, his allure and charm, and his chiseled features must make him a chick magnet.
I’m not a many women kind of guy.
Surprising. I raise a brow as I read his message again.
Really? Working at a sex club, I’d think you have many women on your roster.
That’s where you’re wrong.
I surprise myself when I type back a simple word—
Why?
“Want to go inside?” my father asks, and I shove my phone into my purse, not wanting my father to question me about who I’m texting.
It would be the worst if my dad accidentally spilled the beans to Bane about me texting someone. My father would never deny my trust, and if I told him to keep a secret, he would, but I’d rather not have to cross that bridge.
My phone dings in my purse, but I’m already standing, heading back into the house. Before moving in with Bane, I lived here with my father.
Sunlight streams in through the lace curtains, casting a soft glow across the well-loved furniture. There are still family photos lining the walls. Most of them are pictures of my mother and me.
We head into the kitchen, the heart of the home, and I grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Are you still working at the docks?” I ask my father, wondering if he’s still keeping his job with Don Jones. Don’s the dock manager, and my father’s had on-and-off employment with him most of my life. Loading and unloading ships. Making sure the infrastructure of the docks held up to safety protocols. Even cleaning the bathrooms. He’s done it all.
My father’s weathered face smiles as he glances at me. “I’m working there on the weekends. Don needed help because a few workers quit. So, I told him I’d help him out for a few months.”