Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
He stops cold, smacking my ass with an open palm. “I have an accent, you brat.”
I squeal, cheeks heating with embarrassment when I notice the same woman who I forced to chase me through the office weeks ago sitting behind her desk with a wide smile on her face.
“Pam, this is Remington Blair, my fiancée.”
Her smile grows as I hold my hand out. “He has insisted we get married, but the man hasn’t actually asked yet.”
Her hand is soft and motherly as she takes mine, clasping it between her own.
“Can’t wait for the wedding, dear.”
Flynn chuckles when I huff in mock irritation. If the rest of our lives are going to look anything like the last week has, then sign me up. It’s been absolute bliss. We’ve held each other, made love countless times. We whisper our secrets, hopes, and fears in the darkness tangled up in each other. We make promises we can’t wait to keep. This man is my forever.
“Deacon here?” Flynn asks as we begin to walk away.
“He’s in with Wren.”
I owe Wren a thank you even though I’ve never actually met the man. Flynn told me the BBS computer tech was the one who texted me the address to his condo. I don’t know where we’d be right now if that night hadn’t happened.
“Ignore the bird,” Flynn whispers when we step closer to an open door.
A man I know is Deacon Black, turns as we approach, showcasing a vibrant smile on his handsome face.
“Remington? I’m Deacon. Lovely to meet you.” I shake his hand then follow Flynn when he walks further into the office.
A computer system so complicated greets me when I walk in the room. A smiling man with shaggy hair and a grin sits at the desk.
“Damn, son. I’d chase this one, too.”
My head whips around to see a beautiful African grey parrot bobbing its head as it walks across a rod on the other side of the room.
“Hey, sexy bitch. Wanna fuck?”
My eyes widen. Deacon curses under his breath, and Flynn begins to walk across the room. Our clasped hands keep him from getting to the bird.
“Wanna fight, big man?” the bird squawks. “Come to Daddy.”
Wings spread as the bird mocks aggression, but the cackle slipping past his beak betrays him.
“You don’t want none of this.”
“Wren,” Deacon hisses. “We talked about this.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” I say, taking a few steps and getting a closer look. “What happened to his tail feathers?”
“The devil cat!” the bird screeches, going a little crazy and jumping from one perch to the next. “I’m a victim! Help me! Help me!”
“Victim my ass,” Flynn mutters.
A laugh bubbles out of my throat at the scene in front of me.
“My girlfriend’s cat got a hold of him,” Wren explains. “But in defense of Simon, Puff Daddy shit on his head.”
I cover my mouth, a gasp and laugh making an embarrassing combination.
Flynn pulls our combined hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” Wren holds his hand out for me to shake.
“Thank you for the text message.”
He winks, earning a growl from Flynn. These guys are all flirts around here. “My pleasure.”
“Where’s Ignacio? I kind of owe him a thanks for the kick in the ass.”
Flynn explained to me that Ignacio was the first one to tell him to get his head out of his ass when he came back to St. Louis in a foul mood. He was having Wren look for me, but the computer guy was having problems since I didn’t take any of the electronics I previously had when I left.
“Ig has gone back home,” Wren says. “His granddad had a stroke and they don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
I cover my mouth once again. It’s horrible to hear. I don’t know Ignacio well, but I wouldn’t wish the loss of a loved one on anybody.
“Speaking of…” Wren says when his phone rings. “What’s up, man? We were just talking about you.”
“I need everything you can find on Tinley Holland.” Ignacio’s familiar voice fills the room around us.
Wren moves, his fingers working over the keys.
“We should go,” Flynn says near my ear, but I’m grounded in place from the desperation in Ignacio’s voice.
Wren reads off her name, social, address. He even gives bits and pieces of her education and work history.
“And that’s it?”
“She has a son, almost thirteen years old, named Alex.”
“Is that his full name?” Ignacio’s voice is low and filled with something I don’t recognize.
“Alejandro Cooper Holland,” Wren recites from the information in front of him.
A choking sound comes through the phone, and Flynn’s hand grips mine even harder.
“Hey, isn’t your middle name Alejandro?”
The lines goes dead before Ignacio answers.
“Holy shit,” Deacon mutters.
“Do we need to gear up?” Flynn asks.
Deacon shakes his head. “He’ll call us if he needs us. Right now, it’s a personal situation.”