Read Online HIS: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Part Three) by Glenna Sinclair - Free Book Online
Authors: Glenna Sinclair
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contract. She mentioned it once or twice; I was just too dumb to realize what she meant. She told me he was out with his friend Bill—Bill W., one of the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous. She told me she thought it was ridiculous. I should have seen…I mean, I knew he had a temper, but I couldn’t make myself believe he was capable of beating his wife.
“He didn’t hurt her. And he definitely didn’t kill her.”
Constance shrugged. “Believe what you want to believe, mija . I just want you to have all the information before you go running into this thing. I know you love those babies, but you—”
She stood and came to me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “Your mother was always more than mi amiga. Ella era mi hermana . I can’t just stand here and watch you make a mistake without putting my nose in it.”
I nodded, aware that she was doing this because she thought she was looking out for me, but I still couldn’t make myself believe Nicolas was capable of this kind of thing.
“Why did you take those drugs I found in his bathroom away if you thought he was guilty? You could have told the police.”
“And risk it coming back to hurt you? I couldn’t do that.”
“Then you think he’s capable of murder.”
“I think a man who loves that deeply is capable of many things when the woman he loves does not love him back.” She touched my cheek. “Please, think about what I’ve told you. Don’t let yourself become someone your mother would not be proud of.”
I kissed her cheek lightly. “You’re wrong. And you will see that someday soon.”
Chapter 10
I went to settle in the living room, the baby monitor in my hand, thinking I’d do a little reading while the babies continued to sleep. But then I realized that the book I’d been reading in the hospital—the book I hadn’t had a chance to even pick up since the babies were born—was upstairs in my bedroom.
I climbed the stairs, wondering if that counted as exercise, humming a song I’d heard early that morning on the radio under my breath. It was something about loving the same person until each was old and thinking out loud or something…I couldn’t remember all the words, so I was murdering the lyrics as I pushed through the bedroom door and came up short.
Nicolas was sitting on the edge of the bed, a bag of drugs in his hands.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Why are you in here?”
“It’s my house.” He got up and came toward me, the bag extended between two fingers. “Why is this in here?”
His voice was low, steady, but there was anger dancing in his eyes. He looked at me the same way he did on Thanksgiving Day, the same way he looked at me just seconds before he grabbed me around my throat.
“I found it. I didn’t know what to do with it.”
“Where did you find it?”
I backed up a little, Constance’s words, so recently uttered, dancing through my mind.
…bruises…on her wrists, her throat…if she’d lifted her shirt…
“Did you hit her?” I asked before I even realized the words were on my tongue.
That shocked Nicolas into stopping his forward progression. He stared at me, anger turning into confusion.
“Did I hit who?”
“Aurora.”
“What?” He stared at me, disbelief in every line of his handsome face. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Constance saw bruises. She thinks…” I stopped, my eyes falling to the bag of drugs. Xanax. The same drug that killed Aurora.
Did she take them willingly? Or did someone force her into it?
“Constance thinks I beat Aurora?”
There was genuine hurt in his voice. He stared at me and then something clicked. He opened his mouth, a sound like someone might make if they’d been punched in the gut slipping from between his perfect lips. He stared at me for a long time, his gaze unwavering, but the emotion rushing through them ever-changing.
He turned away, balling up the bag of drugs and throwing them against the far wall. The bag hit with nothing
“He didn’t hurt her. And he definitely didn’t kill her.”
Constance shrugged. “Believe what you want to believe, mija . I just want you to have all the information before you go running into this thing. I know you love those babies, but you—”
She stood and came to me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “Your mother was always more than mi amiga. Ella era mi hermana . I can’t just stand here and watch you make a mistake without putting my nose in it.”
I nodded, aware that she was doing this because she thought she was looking out for me, but I still couldn’t make myself believe Nicolas was capable of this kind of thing.
“Why did you take those drugs I found in his bathroom away if you thought he was guilty? You could have told the police.”
“And risk it coming back to hurt you? I couldn’t do that.”
“Then you think he’s capable of murder.”
“I think a man who loves that deeply is capable of many things when the woman he loves does not love him back.” She touched my cheek. “Please, think about what I’ve told you. Don’t let yourself become someone your mother would not be proud of.”
I kissed her cheek lightly. “You’re wrong. And you will see that someday soon.”
Chapter 10
I went to settle in the living room, the baby monitor in my hand, thinking I’d do a little reading while the babies continued to sleep. But then I realized that the book I’d been reading in the hospital—the book I hadn’t had a chance to even pick up since the babies were born—was upstairs in my bedroom.
I climbed the stairs, wondering if that counted as exercise, humming a song I’d heard early that morning on the radio under my breath. It was something about loving the same person until each was old and thinking out loud or something…I couldn’t remember all the words, so I was murdering the lyrics as I pushed through the bedroom door and came up short.
Nicolas was sitting on the edge of the bed, a bag of drugs in his hands.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Why are you in here?”
“It’s my house.” He got up and came toward me, the bag extended between two fingers. “Why is this in here?”
His voice was low, steady, but there was anger dancing in his eyes. He looked at me the same way he did on Thanksgiving Day, the same way he looked at me just seconds before he grabbed me around my throat.
“I found it. I didn’t know what to do with it.”
“Where did you find it?”
I backed up a little, Constance’s words, so recently uttered, dancing through my mind.
…bruises…on her wrists, her throat…if she’d lifted her shirt…
“Did you hit her?” I asked before I even realized the words were on my tongue.
That shocked Nicolas into stopping his forward progression. He stared at me, anger turning into confusion.
“Did I hit who?”
“Aurora.”
“What?” He stared at me, disbelief in every line of his handsome face. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Constance saw bruises. She thinks…” I stopped, my eyes falling to the bag of drugs. Xanax. The same drug that killed Aurora.
Did she take them willingly? Or did someone force her into it?
“Constance thinks I beat Aurora?”
There was genuine hurt in his voice. He stared at me and then something clicked. He opened his mouth, a sound like someone might make if they’d been punched in the gut slipping from between his perfect lips. He stared at me for a long time, his gaze unwavering, but the emotion rushing through them ever-changing.
He turned away, balling up the bag of drugs and throwing them against the far wall. The bag hit with nothing
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