Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Brantley
Once upon a time, I tried to drown myself at the bottom of a bottle and didn't care who it hurt.
I haven't been that guy in years, but no one believes me.
Especially not since my father was killed in front of his assistant.
Everyone thinks his dealers were after me, and I let them believe it.
What do I have to lose, right?
Turns out…everything.
Because the moment Isla Sterling walks into my life, the past no longer matters. Only she does.
After everything I've done, I know I'm not good enough for her.
She wants the truth about what happened, and I want to give it to her.
I just didn't expect it to go down like this…
Isla
I thought having a mom in prison was the hardest thing I'd ever face.
And then, my dad shipped my twin off to Texas after she witnessed a murder.
Now, I'm alone for the first time in my life.
I should let it go and let the cops do their job, but I can't.
I need to know the truth about what happened.
I just didn't expect Brantley Hill.
Everyone says he's responsible…but I don't believe it.
Falling for him is the worst possible thing I could do.
I do it anyway.
Right up until everything unravels, and I'm forced to choose.
Can I really build a future with a man who has a past as broken as his?
Save Me is a dark and steamy billionaire romance featuring a tortured hero, a strong, curvy heroine, and dark secrets.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Brantley
"You have a visitor."
I flick my gaze up from the newspaper stretched across my executive desk to scowl at Daniel Tipton, the asshole in a cowboy hat who claims he's my assistant.
He's been saying the same damn thing for the last four years. But let's face it, the man belongs at a record company less than I do. And this is the last place I should be.
But I just inherited the damn thing, so I'm stuck. I don't know what his excuse is, but he's shit at the job. Apparently, I'm shit at firing him, too. I've done it at least half a dozen times. And yet, here he remains.
"I don't have a meeting on my schedule," I growl. Wouldn't be the first time he conveniently forgot to add a meeting to the thing. Like I said, he belongs here less than I do. I think his only joy in life is torturing me.
Sobriety sponsor, my ass.
"Oh, I'm aware." His lips twitch, one dark brow arched in amusement. The early morning sunlight filtering in through the windows sends rays spilling across the lower half of his face, though the brim of his cowboy hat leaves his hazel eyes lurking in shadow. "That's why I didn't say you have a fuckin' meeting. I said you have a visitor. And judgin' by the looks of her, this girl hasn't had a meetin' a day in her life."
Jesus Christ.
I lean back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. I don't have the patience for bullshit today. Thanks to the newspaper stretched across my desk, I'm not in the mood for much of anything, as a matter of fact.
Yet again, my father's murder is front page news. Which means, yet again, my name is spreading across this city like wildfire. Half the state thinks I'm the reason he's dead. The other half thinks he's the greatest goddamn thing since sliced bread.
It's all bullshit. Every bit of it.
But I can't very well tell them that.
No one would believe me even if I did.
To the world, Bellamy Hill was the next thing to a saint. His son, on the other hand? Well, as far as the world is concerned, only one of the Hill men is destined for heaven, and it ain't me.
Ironic doesn't even begin to cover it.
If either of us is headed for hell, it's that bastard. Doesn't matter how much money he poured into charities when the spotlight was on him. Behind closed doors, he was a monster who got off on getting high and terrorizing his wife and traumatizing his son.
He was too smart to leave bruises anyone would see on my mother. Those, he left in places that could be carefully concealed. Hell, most of the scars he left me with were the kind that didn't leave marks at all. They cut a helluva lot deeper.
I spent years trying to forget them at the bottom of a bottle. All I got for it was the reputation he managed to evade and a sobriety sponsor who calls himself my assistant.
To people in this town, I'm the fuck up. My father is the legend. I'm the one who should have died in that parking garage. He's the one who didn't deserve it.
It's all I've heard since his dealers finally caught up to him. And I'm the idiot who continues to let them think it.