Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
I bet my older brother handled that one a lot smoother. Ian asked Cas to marry him in a helicopter while fleeing together for their lives. It’s an exhilarating way to pop the big question. The difference is, in our case, there was no question.
After another few seconds, when no sounds come through the door, I go to the kitchen, pour a glass of milk, and install myself at my desk in the study. I wake my laptop up with my thumbprint and open the file with the second phase of my program, which I baptized Violet II. With all the security I’ve put in place, I’ve made damn sure Violet won’t be able to get her hands on anything on my laptop.
For the rest of the night, I work on ironing out a few kinks in the chain of hard code. By morning, I’ve already had five cups of coffee. To put all the caffeine in my system to good use, I work out on the deck, pushing my body beyond its physical limits until sweat pours off me and I’m so beat I barely make it upstairs for a shower.
When I enter my bedroom, Violet is sleeping soundly in my bed. Apparently, she didn’t suffer from guilt-induced insomnia. Pausing next to the bed, I take in her features. Her long, dark lashes form half-moons over her cheeks. Her skin has a rosy radiance, a color that equals cozy bedcovers and sleepy princesses. She’s resiliently beautiful, my burning comet, but part of what makes her glow comes from within. What makes her shine so brightly is who she is, and, to my detriment, I can’t resist. Not even knowing what she’s done. Especially knowing what she’s done. Her betrayal tied her to me in ways that can never be undone. We’re two peas in a pod. Our union would’ve been perfect if she hadn’t made an enemy of me.
Fisting the cover, I yank it off her body. Her eyes fly open, spilling the most gorgeous violet light.
“It’s time to get ready,” I say, my tone brusque but my manner casual as I walk to the bathroom. No matter how much I desire her, I still want to punish her for being a traitor.
I take my time in the shower, letting the warm water soothe my sore muscles and calm my angry mind. By the time I step back into the room, my control is in check.
Violet stands in front of the window with a mug cupped between her hands. The smell of my hand-milled Kenyan coffee hangs in the air. Her lavender eyes flare when she takes in my naked body. She should be glad I had a hand job in the shower. She could’ve been confronted with my fully erect cock.
“I said to get ready,” I say, flicking my fingers as I stroll past her on my way to the dressing room. “We’re leaving in ten.”
As obstinate as she is, she turns her back on me to finish her coffee in peace. So be it. If she’s not ready when I want to leave, I’ll load her naked into the car. She can get dressed on the way.
While pulling on my clothes, I think about my family, which is a rare occurrence. They’re not at the forefront of my mind this morning because I wanted to invite them to our marriage ceremony. I’m thinking about my late mother and father as a couple who never made it in any way. They sucked as parents as much as they sucked in life. Simply put, they sucked at being people. To be fair, they worked around the clock to put bread on the table. But, to also be brutally honest, there would’ve been more than bread if my father hadn’t spent most of his salary on cheap, hard liquor.
I have a theory about why Zoe, Damian, Ian, and I took the enormous risks we did, including gambling with our lives, to end up filthy rich. Growing up dirt poor does that to a person. It teaches you that in our circles, only the strong and wealthy survive. I’ve earned my riches by putting my life on the line—more than once. However, the gigs were Ian’s initiative. I’ve yet to make my mark in life and to prove my worth, which I would’ve done this very week if Violet hadn’t ruined my plans.
Inspecting my reflection in the mirror, I ponder what I’m about to do. I feel no guilt or regret, only satisfaction. The white linen shirt and beige suit are suitable for the occasion. The ensemble doesn’t require a tie. I brush my damp hair back with my fingers. Scruff darkens my jaw. I suppose I should’ve shaved, but gentlemanly courtesies aren’t on the agenda. After splashing on aftershave, I return to the room.