Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“That’s quite a unique name.”
“He was a unique guy. Born and bred in the Deep South, his family lived on a rambling farm that harvests corn.”
I nod, giving him space to tell the story.
“Not sure you’ve had much to do with Henri. He keeps to himself.” Henri’s a quiet, unassuming employee of Cain’s. He was the man that opened the door for me the day I first came here. I knew I detected a Southern accent.
“I’ve seen him, but we’ve never really even talked beyond work at all.”
“He keeps to himself. Henri was Court’s youngest brother.”
“Oh wow.”
“Court was the father I never had, Violet.”
I didn’t see that coming.
I gently stroke his shoulder. Keeping him with me. “Oh? How so?”
His voice takes on a huskier edge, reminiscing. “He took me under his wing. Showed me how to shoot, showed me how to protect the people under my care. He was the oldest of seven, raised to be a man of honor, and he taught me everything he knew.”
“Well, that explains a lot.”
He huffs out a laugh as he runs his fingers through my hair in a rhythmic motion, up and down, up and down, as if it soothes him. Maybe it does.
“Court was killed by friendly fire.” My heart aches. Accidental death like that is so tragic, I can’t imagine how it feels for the people who knew him or the people responsible for his death. “I was the one who found him. He bled out while I held him, waiting for emergency crews to respond.”
“Oh, Cain.” I’ve been through brutally painful times, but something like this makes me hurt for him.
“And before the rescue crews could find us, I was taken hostage. I took his dog tags just before they took his body and me, alive.”
I put two and two together.
“And that’s how you got the scars on your back.” I knew it was some kind of torture or punishment he’d endured.
“Yeah.”
“Let me see them.”
He stills for a moment, before he lets me slide off of him. The bed’s huge, a king-sized monstrosity as big as the old apartment I rented, so he rolls over with ease. He places his arms above his head, spreading his muscled, scarred back for me. My eyes have adjusted to the dim lighting in the room, moonlight lighting up the silvery-white scars that crisscross his back.
“Brutal,” I whisper, my own body clenching at the scars that mimic mine. I bend, close my eyes, and kiss each scar that lines his back.
He lets me. My throat tightens.
“Don’t tell me where your scars came from. Not tonight, Violet.”
I still. Why doesn’t he want to know? A part of me’s relieved, because I’m not in the mood to relive any of those events.
“I won’t. I don’t want to talk about it myself yet. But can I ask you why?”
He rolls back over, reaches for me, then drags me to his chest again. His eyes are fire, giving me a glimpse of the inferno that rages inside him. Sometimes, he tames the fire. Sometimes, he hides it. But it’s never fully quenched.
“Because when I find out who gave you those scars, I will hunt them down. I will make them pay. I want to be fully prepared, and tonight’s not the night for that.”
I’d smile, but he isn’t joking.
I’m falling in love with the man they call The Executioner. I didn’t come here by accident.
“Alright, then,” I whisper.
I lay back down beside him and roll over. We both know it’s time for sleep, and the time to divulge secrets to one another is over.
For now.
He lays his heavy arm over my body, and I sigh. Nothing gives me comfort like the weight of his arm.
I want to ask him how we’re coming along on the next job we have to do—finding my parents’ murderer. I want to remind him that he promised me that he wouldn’t leave me hanging. But I’m tired, and so is he. Tomorrow, then.
I yawn widely, my eyes closing.
“Thank you for that,” I whisper, as slumber beckons.
“For what?”
“For trusting me with the truth.”
I need to ask him about my parents. Have we made headway with anything at all? I’m feeling frustrated and impatient, so ready to move on this. But not tonight.
I fall into a deep sleep.
I dream of hunting, and weapons, and throwing the new knives he bought me, but every time I throw them, I miss the target.
Chapter Four
Cain
“Cain!”
I look up from my laptop, my eyes blurry from staring too long, and blink. Someone just called my name.
“Cain, come here!” It’s Skylar.
I jump up from my seat and stalk to my office door, my pulse accelerating. Why the hell is she yelling for me? I yank it open, ready to grab the weapon I keep on me at all times. I check the heft of it in my holster, just in case.