Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“It’s Mrs. Vasiliev,” Master corrected, his tone firm. “Her name is Ambrielle Vasiliev. She’s my wife.”
He did have a rasp to his voice. He sounded rough. Scary even. On the other side of her, Absinthe, the lawyer, appeared. He must have been sitting in the bar, somewhere close, and she hadn’t noticed because her focus had been on Master. She found she was gripping his vest in her fist, but she couldn’t let go. Once again, he was her lifeline. She wondered if she was ever going to be herself again. Right then, she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. She even glanced over her shoulder to look at Seychelle, silently begging her to keep singing. To never stop, not until the interview was over. Seychelle had the bluest eyes, and she was looking straight at Ambrielle. She nodded at her, as if she knew Ambrie needed strength.
Looking at her, Ambrie realized in one burning flash what could be the truth. Seychelle took on emotions. Her emotions. Her sorrow. The terrible grief that threatened to bring her to her knees. Ambrielle looked around the bar at every single Torpedo Ink member there. She believed in psychic gifts because she had them. Seychelle obviously had a powerful one. It wasn’t a coincidence that she was in the bar practicing for a gig. She was there because Ambrielle, a perfect stranger, had to speak to the sheriff about the murders of her parents.
Savage, Seychelle’s man, knew what his woman was doing. The lines in his face had deepened since the first time she’d noticed him. He was a very scary man, and now he looked even more so. He was taking some emotion on his shoulders as well. These people. Absinthe. Player. Keys. Maestro. Preacher behind the bar, acting as if he was simply wiping everything down. They were all contributing to making her feel as comfortable as possible. Especially Master.
What was she doing? Her parents would be so disappointed in her. She raised her chin. She would not let a sweet woman like Seychelle shoulder a burden meant for her. She loved her parents, and that sorrow belonged solely to her. She could take it. She would. She would let the grief slowly turn to something else as it aged in her. Memories of all the good times, so grief became the ache of missing them. The burn of anger would smolder until it needed to explode into rage at those who took them from her.
She was Ambrielle Moore Vasiliev. And she was strong. She had an amazing man as her husband, mostly because she’d lucked out, but then again, it was that psychic gift that had been passed down from her mother—maybe from her father as well. She just knew she’d chosen correctly.
Another man walked into the bar. Tall, straight, broad-shouldered. He had black hair streaked with silver and wore it pulled back in a longer ponytail that didn’t in any way detract from his looking rugged. His eyes were steel blue, almost a silver. She knew immediately this was Czar.
Two other men came in with him, one looking like an older version of Savage. She was certain she remembered him from the chapel. He had to be Reaper. The other one was a huge man, all muscle with long hair and prison tattoos covering a multitude of scars. She had no idea who he was, and she didn’t ask Master, not with the sheriff so close.
She gave herself permission to lean on her husband; after all, her parents had been especially close all their lives.
“Mrs. Vasiliev,” the sheriff corrected himself. “I’m Jonas Harrington. This is Jackson Deveau. We’re very sorry for your loss. I know this is a terrible time for you, but we really do need to ask you some questions.”
It was Master who waved his hand toward the table where they were seated. It was large enough to accommodate the two law enforcement officers, who murmured a greeting to Absinthe, who was already sitting on the other side of Ambrie, and also Czar, who joined them. Reaper and the newcomer took up positions at the door.
Ambrielle bit down on her lower lip, but nodded her head.
“When were you told of your parents’ murder?” Jonas asked, his voice unbelievably gentle.
Ambrie’s gaze flicked to Absinthe. She’d been told it was the deputy, Jackson, who was the human lie detector. She had to be very careful how she handled the question. “Master, and I think it was Czar”—she looked at him as if for confirmation—“first discussed the murder with me on my wedding day.” She had discussed her parents’ murders with Master, making it clear she wanted revenge. That had been her original motive for carrying through with the marriage. That and ensuring Walker Thompson didn’t get the fortune he was so certain he was going to end up with.