Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
He glances at Harlow and Eli and raises his brows. “You get it done?”
“Yeah. You?”
He doesn’t look at Winry. “Yeah.” His tone invites no other questions, which is just as well. I don’t need the details of the consummation. Fuck, I don’t want them. It’s enough that he got it done and didn’t maul her.
One by one, my brothers appear. They all give me nods of confirmation. It’s been done.
And then Donovan shows up with Ciar’s former youngest wife…and another woman. The Mystic’s wife is a curvy white woman with curly, dark hair and full lips that look like they’ve been sucking cock for hours. The other woman is muscular with straight, dark hair and a body that suggests she punches through walls for fun.
I point at her. “Who the fuck is this?”
“Bodyguard.” Donovan shrugs. “She showed up as we were getting in the trucks. She’s loyal to Mabel, not to Ciar. She got pushy, so I brought her along.”
I stare at him. “She was pushy, so you brought her along.” Donovan just stares at me, as if he didn’t potentially breach our security on a whim. “And you didn’t think to mention it?”
“We were all otherwise occupied.” He gives me a slow grin. Of all my brothers, he’s chosen to deal with the harsh realities of our exile and survival with humor and a determination to take nothing too seriously. Sometimes it’s a welcome relief. Sometimes—like now—it makes me want to wring his neck.
I turn to the bodyguard. “You do anything to fuck with us, we won’t just kill you. We’ll kill her, too.” I point at Mabel. “Got it?”
She sets her chin and leans forward on her toes, obviously wanting nothing more than to punch me in the face. “She’s my priority. I couldn’t give a fuck about the rest of it as long as she’s safe.”
Yeah, we’ll see. I level a dark look at Donovan for complicating my life and jerk my thumb at the trucks. “Load up. We’re relocating.”
This time, I don’t toss Eli in the bed of the truck. I drag him to the passenger seat and shove him in. Harlow, I guide around to the driver’s seat. “In the middle.”
“Lucky me.” She climbs up, giving me a flash of the lower curve of her ass.
She’s taken sex off the negotiating table, but not off the list of possibilities. Hell if I don’t respect her more for realizing that I’d never let my cock guide me in making policy decisions. And for not denying the obvious; we’re attracted to each other, and the sex was hot enough to set the entire warehouse on fire. I’m going to have her in my bed again, and soon, but right now that’s not the priority.
I lead our little caravan out of the warehouse. As we leave, several additional trucks join the line—our people who’ve been keeping watch of the perimeter to ensure no one decided to pull anything underhanded.
After several blocks, I glance at Eli. He’s retreated into himself the same way he used to do when we were kids and he came up against a challenge he couldn’t immediately find a way around. That impressive brain of his is firing on all cylinders, trying to figure out a way to turn this situation to his advantage.
Despite my best efforts, my gaze drops to his mouth. It’s still all fucked up from our fight, but the memory of him sucking my cock isn’t one I’m going to be able to erase from my head anytime soon.
I’d always been attracted to him, but we were friends first, and in our world, true friendship is rare enough that I didn’t want to fuck with it by adding sex to the mix. I never bothered to find out if he felt the same; it was too risky to fuck up our dynamic. I trusted him. That was more intimate than any sex could ever be.
Look where that trust got me.
Orphaned and exiled.
It doesn’t matter if my father was a monster, that he would have died before the end of that year regardless of whose hand held the blade. We had a plan—for us, for the faction—and Eli threw it all away to grab power for himself. I welcome the anger that surges in response to the memory of that night. The ash on my tongue from the smoke of our childhood home going up in flames. The fear. Fuck, I was so goddamn scared that night. The knowledge that if I fucked up, my brothers might die as a result, had burned away any thought but getting out of the city and getting out fast.
I can never forgive Eli for taking everything from me, for making me fear, for throwing the truth in my face—no matter how strong, how fucking fierce I am, it can all be turned against me in a moment because I trusted the wrong person.