Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
CALLUM
Rage.
It rushes out of me like a volcano, all because of what I’m witnessing outside the apartment building across the street from where I parked, waiting for Bianca.
It’s enough to suck the air from inside the car and tighten my chest until my heart’s about to burst from the strain. Sweat beads along my temple, and my skin becomes tight. I’m going to explode.
They’ll find me here, dead of a heart attack or stroke, sitting behind the wheel across the street from where Bianca—my Bianca, nobody else’s—ducks away from her ex-boyfriend’s attempt at mauling her.
He owes her his life for that. I’m not stupid. I know he wouldn’t have stopped at a simple kiss, and then I would have had no choice but to end his miserable life. All that keeps me from firing off a bullet into the bastard’s skull is the way she rejects him. I have the grim pleasure of watching her shove him away with both hands. The windows of my car are rolled up, so there’s no telling what she says, but her facial expressions are enough.
She’s disgusted. Furious. She even flips him the bird before marching away, arms folded over her chest. Her lips are moving, and I can imagine what must be pouring out of her as she slams herself inside her car.
“Good girl,” I murmur, breathing like I just finished a run. My hands are wrapped around the steering wheel when I’d rather have them wrapped around that son of a bitch’s neck, squeezing until he goes purple and the light leaves his eyes.
The idea is intoxicating, and I savor it like a fine wine while observing his reaction.
He watches her every move while wearing a look of utter misery. That’s the only reason I’m willing to leave him alive. I won’t give him the mercy of death. I like knowing he’s wallowing in the shit he put in place. The ignorant prick deserves to lie in the bed he made.
“If you’re smart, you’ll go home,” I mutter, staring at him. “You need to leave, shit stain. Don’t even think about following her.” Even if it would give me the excuse to have him shot on sight for trespassing on private property. I doubt he would be that stupid, or I hope not. Then again, he was brainless enough to cheat on the most perfect creature to draw breath, so I suppose he’s capable of anything.
You fucking hypocrite.
My skin prickles, thanks to a reminder from my seldom-used conscience that I’m no better than him. Here I am, warning him against following Bianca after following her myself. She told me this morning she’d be looking at an apartment tonight—like it was nothing, like she wanted me to be happy for her. There I was, assuming we’d settled that. I was expecting her to move in permanently. My fists clenched tight when she said it, but I doubt she noticed.
She might have chosen differently if she had the first clue of what her announcement did to me. How I instantly saw her in my mind’s eye tied to my bed, locked behind a heavy door, at my beck and call.
I had no choice but to let her go to work and wish her well, thanks to Romero’s unexpected presence in the kitchen while we shared a quick breakfast. He saw her, overheard our conversation—and while he’s looked the other way on a great many things, every man has his limits.
I don’t think she knows I’m watching, even if it seems by now she should assume. She’s crazier than I thought if she believes I’d let her live in the middle of town, surrounded by god only knows what.
Yeah, like I’d let that happen.
I won’t lie. As inconvenient as it is, I admire her desire for independence. I’d rather her try to do her own thing than sponge off me the way Amanda did and continues to do. The slightest thought of that bitch enrages me. It also reminds me of something I meant to take care of already. Bianca’s long gone now, on her way home, and I plan to follow. Before easing out into the street, I pull up Tatum’s contact details and call her through the car’s Bluetooth. She knows better than to ignore me.
“Dad.” Her overly chipper response rouses my instincts. “How’s it going on the other side of the Atlantic?”
She’s trying too hard. “Do you know why I’m calling?” I ask in a carefully measured voice.
“Because you miss your little girl and wish I would come home?”
Wiseass. “That’s true, but it’s not why I called. Let’s be serious. You ran two of your cards over their limit. I know you’re aware I get an alert when that happens.”
“Oh, Dad.” She sighs like a woman with the weight of the world on her delicate shoulders and not a girl whose father is footing the bill for her trip across Europe. “I apologize. I lost track. I don’t think you know how easy it is to forget how much you’ve spent.”