Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Food. Of course.
Or at least the guy’s phone was trying to get dinner.
Apex had then gone into the basement, knocked on Mahrci’s door—and discovered that the female’s clothes were still in that closet.
Fates in the fucking Fade, he thought, please let her not be out there feeding the deer and getting herself eaten again.
Or having been kidnapped by her father. Her fiancé.
Santa-fucking-Claus.
Returning upstairs, he got to the first level just as a flare of headlights pierced through the windows. Couldn’t be Callum. Not unless that wolven could somehow dematerialize a Ford truck back here. Not Hemmy, who was still playing hunt-and-peck at Hannaford.
And as far as he knew, Mahrci hadn’t brought her car up.
It was with an utter lack of enthusiasm that he went over and opened the front door—
Out in front, a matte gray BMW sedan looked like a great white shark that had been rolled in powdered sugar. The male who got out from behind the wheel was slick as the car, his dark hair pulled back in a man bun, his face sporting designer beard stubble that he no doubt mowed like a golf fairway every nightfall. In his dark suit, he looked like a model who’d gotten lost in the sticks.
“Aren’t you finished yet,” Remis, son of Penbroke, said as he came around the car’s ass.
The fact that his Gucci loafers had hot soles from the heater meant he went for some Three Stooges, on-ice action, and wasn’t that deeply satisfying. Too bad he caught his balance on the posterier of his pretentious-mobile.
“Almost fell on your butt there,” Apex drawled as the guy hit the walkway.
“Well?” Remis was considerably more careful as he came up the path of packed snow. “Are you finished with the job yet?”
Apex turned and went back in the house, leaving the door open. He was halfway to the hearth when the thing was shut loudly.
“You got a helluva n’attitude, Apex.”
“Your boss doesn’t hire me for my personality.” From the cord of wood set into a nook in the river stone, Apex gathered a couple of logs. “And relax, I’m still on schedule. Most of the cameras have already been installed.”
“What about the feed?” The male looked around with his hands on his hips, a tattletale all grown up and ready to be petty. “When is that going to be online.”
Ignoring the supercilious bastard, Apex took an armful of logs to the hearth. The banked ashes were hungry for food, and the instant he restocked the glow, flames licked up as if they were taste-testing things and finding the hardwood very palatable.
He turned around. “The programming’s coming along.”
“When.”
Not a question, a demand. But he didn’t work for the guy. “It’ll be ready. I was told I have plenty of time.”
“You’ve got forty-eight hours.”
Apex frowned. “That’s not my understanding.”
“It is now.” The male waved around. “So . . . get going.”
Apex looked down at the wool rug for a moment. Nice rug. Red, green, and gold. Like everything else in the house.
All things considered, he was surprised it didn’t have a border of birch bark.
When he was ready, he took three steps forward so that he and Remis were nose to nose. “I don’t work for you. And if I did? I can guarantee you that tone of voice wouldn’t be used again in my presence.”
Remis went full-bore hauteur, his stubbled chin raising. “I’ll address you any way I want to. And you do work for me. I’m Whestmorel’s right-hand male, so when I tell you the schedule has changed, you’re going to make it happen or you’re out.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. You’re right.”
On that note, Apex went into the study and picked up the duffle that hadn’t been opened. As he carried it out, the male had an expression of satisfaction on his superior face—
Which changed as the luggage was dropped by the front door and Apex went for his leather jacket on the coatrack.
Fucking hell, where was Mayhem with that SUV?
“What are you doing?”
Apex glanced over. “You gave me two choices. Stay and—how did you put it . . . ‘make it happen.’ Or leave. So I’m leaving.”
As soon as Mayhem got back. On that note, he got out his phone—
“You can’t go.” Remis started pointing at the cameras. “These need to work—we can’t have the meeting up here unless they—”
Apex’s phone made a series of little tippity-tappy noises.
“You don’t have to text him.” Now the tone was more reasonable. “You just have to do your job—”
“Oh, I’m not talking to our boss.” Apex smiled—truly smiled. “I’m going to let you handle what’s going to happen when Whestmorel tries to have the Council meet here and isn’t able to record every move of those traitors—so he has leverage to hold their feet to the fire if they rethink what they’re doing because it’s illegal.”