Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Part of me feels relieved as hell she’s still in one piece, this primal part that wants to pull her close, to apologize and tell her I’m glad she’s safe and nothing else matters.
The rest of me wants to tear her a new one for walking into a potential slaughter.
She glances back at the laundromat. “But what about the money—”
“Leave it,” I snap, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around so she’s facing away from it. “The less you have to do with it, the better.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Later. You’ve got ten seconds to start the van or you’re coming with me. Move your ass.”
Her lips thin and she narrows her eyes as she glances across at the vehicle and starts moving. My eyes are glued to her surroundings the whole time, looking for any sign of unexpected cars swerving toward us.
Every nerve in my body bristles, wishing I had my gun, a token nine millimeter I keep locked up at home for personal protection.
Shit, the bystanders alone are threatening enough in this paranoid haze.
Every mom and dad hauling bulging bags of laundry, every dog walker, every teenage punk glancing our way. A kid on a skateboard sails past, probably wondering why there’s a vehicle like mine parked here.
Go, go, for fuck’s sake, woman.
I wait until Junie’s in the driver’s seat before I jump in my ride. I’ve taken one of the company cars again, and although it’s sleek, black, and not outrageously expensive, it still stands out.
God fucking damn it.
She’s safe, I remind myself as I pull out behind her and follow the van closely on the road.
She’s safe, and now that we’re escaping, we can keep it that way.
My gut knots, knowing how close we might’ve come to never escaping at all.
Junie might think she knows what she’s doing, but when it comes to the underworld, she’s horribly naïve. Hell, even I’m lacking. It’s been about a solid decade since I last saw combat.
Once she was inside the laundromat, she forgot to keep an eye on what was happening outside. She didn’t notice the way I was watching her through the window. Didn’t notice when I came in, when I walked through the doors, when I grabbed her.
She wouldn’t have noticed a gun in my hand or the chloroform-soaked rag destined to make her another missing person before it even went over her mouth.
There’s no honor in death or abductions.
Every damn time I close my eyes, I can see it playing out in my head.
They would’ve stuck a gun in her back and forced her to get in their car, maybe. They would take her to a secure location and extract every bit of information they could.
Then they’d kill her or worse—how many women in the wrong place at the wrong time wind up being trafficked?
Too many.
And fuck me, it would be my fault.
I introduced her to Forrest Haute. I dragged her into a fake engagement. I made her lie like the king of all assholes I am.
Junie could have died and I’d have no one to blame but myself.
I’ve never been shaken like this before, viscerally afraid for her.
It’s like falling off a cliff, only you can’t see the ground.
I’m just spinning, going down, waiting for the impact, and it’s that waiting, that hellish uncertainty, that unknown that’s driving me insane.
Also, she’s driving too slow in this traffic.
I squeeze the steering wheel, reminding myself that nothing says guilt like speeding, like running, like relying on gut instinct.
But I imagine her in the car alone.
Is she crying now?
Is she in shock?
Is she driving at a crawl because she’s still trying to process everything that’s happened thanks to me?
My knuckles are about to pop out of my skin.
Snarling, I relax my hands, taking a deep breath. I’ve been checking the rearview mirror every three seconds.
We’re still safe.
For now.
I punch the button on my app as we approach my house and the gates swing open. I close them behind us immediately.
Overdramatic, maybe, but I’m not risking anyone else coming in.
The van opens and Junie slides out the second we’re in my driveway. She looks up at the house with the strangest expression, almost like she doesn’t recognize it.
Then I get out and she looks at me.
I know her well enough to read her perfectly.
The way her eyes widen, her lips press together, the tendons in her neck standing in sharp relief.
Fear.
That’s what grips her now, and if I had less self-control, it would be mirrored on my face too.
Fear for her.
For everything this nasty discovery means.
I don’t want to be angry, but that’s how my own fear erupts.
Anger slashing through my veins like swords, so potent it scorches.
“How did you find me?” she asks.
“You mean when you didn’t answer my calls? Don’t say that like I wasn’t driving around looking for you.” I’m too close to her now. Close enough to see her freckles, the sharp green of her eyes, the dampness on her eyelashes.