Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Fair enough. You’re right though. The rumors say the Dusters are attacking because Vincent looks weak right now. He knows it, and it’s driving him insane. He’s never been in a position like this before, because he’s always been seen as big, strong, healthy, and very dangerous. He’s still all of those things, even with the MS, but perception matters.”
“What’s he going to do?” I asked.
She gestured vaguely with a fork. “Who knows. He talks a lot about killing them all, but that’s sort of meaningless without a real plan.”
“You talk like you’re a part of all this stuff, but I thought you were a journalist.”
“Well,” she said, smiling a little as she sipped her water. “I suppose I’m more of a mafia wife than a journalist these days, even if I remain somewhat compromised.”
“What do you think will happen?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping Vincent can end this war and end it convincingly. If he can do that, then others might think twice about stepping up, even if news of his illness keeps spreading. It’s possible he can have MS and still be feared, so long as he shows that his disease isn’t making him weak. Still, there will always be questions, and I’m afraid he’s going to have to fight people off for the rest of his life.”
I shifted, slightly uncomfortable, and looked down at the table. “Aren’t you afraid?” I asked in a small voice.
She didn’t answer right away. She looked thoughtful, like she wasn’t sure if she understood the question, before leaning toward me. “Of course I am,” she said simply. “But the good outweighs the bad.”
“How?” I asked.
“You like Ren.” She said it as a statement, not a question.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I think that is the subject, though. You’re wondering how someone like me can love a man like Vincent, because you’re afraid of letting yourself give in to your feelings for Ren.”
“I barely know him,” I said, shaking my head.
“At one point, I barely knew Vincent. That doesn’t matter.”
“Come on. I owe Ren my life, but—”
“I’ve seen the way you looked at him. Are you really going to try to tell me you don’t like the man, at least a little bit?”
I opened my mouth to tell her no, no, of course not, Ren was just my bodyguard, and even though he saved me, I didn’t owe him a thing, and I certainly didn’t have feelings for him— but no words came out. I shut my mouth again and took a breath, and I didn’t want to lie to her, but I didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t true anymore.
I though back to that day, before the attack. I wanted to paint something for him, something just for him, and I felt strangely excited to do it. I didn’t know where that feeling came from, or maybe I did and I wanted to try to pretend like it was a mystery. Maybe Mona was right—maybe I felt something I wasn’t letting myself feel all the way.
“I don’t know what I want,” I said finally.
“I think that’s fair.”
“You have to understand. I grew up with men like Ren.” I shook my head and stood suddenly, unable to sit still anymore. I paced across the room, my wet hair cold against my scalp. “I always told myself as soon as I could escape my father and all the rest of them, I’d run away and start my own life.” I stopped pacing and looked at her. “Do you have any clue what it’s like to grow up with a house full of those bastards?”
“I can only guess,” she said.
“It was horrible. Every day, it was a new thing. Young men coming and going, teasing me, giving me shit, but mostly being treated like I didn’t exist. My father wanted a son, but he got me instead, so I was a burden on him, just another bitch that wanted to drain him of his money— those were his words, of course.”
Mona grimaced. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine.”
“Then to feel this way about Ren, it’s confusing. I thought I wanted to get away from men like him, like my father, and now—” I shook my head and threw my hands up in the air.
“Are you sure Ren’s like your father?” she asked softly. “He’s not in the family, after all.”
“No, but he’s like them.”
“Maybe—”
“No, Mona. Pretend all you want, but I’m telling you, he’s just like all the rest of them.”
She watched me without speaking for a few seconds as I caught my breath. I felt like I was on the verge of panic again, but I didn’t understand why. She stood and walked over, then gently directed me back to the couch. I sat down, leaned forward, and ate some soup.
She sat and ate in silence next to me.