Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I pull out a small mirror from my kit and hold it so I can read the combination. It’s easy to memorize, and in a matter of seconds, and much to dude-bro’s chagrin, I twirl the lock and grin when the locks give way.
I back out of the way before opening the door because the reveal of what’s inside isn’t up to me. It’s not what we were hired for.
“That fucking easy?” he snaps, and I’m waiting, mentally daring him to argue the price with Deacon. “We saw that code, looked at it the same way and the numbers didn’t work for us.”
“Did you think to consider they were backward in your mirror?”
The guy narrows his eyes, and I pause, thinking he’s going to get pissy, but he tilts his head back and barks out a laugh that echoes around the concrete room.
I begin to pack up my things, taking off my hard hat and glasses, stowing both in my tool kit.
“Are you guys going to stick around to see what’s inside?” dude-bro asks as we start back up the stairs.
“No thanks,” Deacon answers.
“Did you see what they did to that thing?” I complain as we walk toward his truck.
“It’s a shame,” he says as I toss my bag in the back of his pickup.
“That safe is probably worth more than whatever he’s going to find inside,” I mutter.
“Probably, but it’s good for a few million views, I’m sure.”
I brood in the front seat on the way back to the office, texting Wren to make sure Kendall and the kids are okay, getting further annoyed when he responds back with a simple yes.
The man is all about the details one minute, and the next, he doesn’t offer any more than what’s asked. The only consistent part about it is that he does whichever he knows will annoy you the most at the time.
Chapter 27
Kendall
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” I mutter to Wren as we walk into the Blackbridge office and the kids scatter in all directions like they’ve been here a million times.
Wren chuckles. “Naw, the guys love kids. The only one who doesn’t really like kids—”
He snaps his jaw shut, but his eyes darting away from me answers the question I don’t even have to ask. Finn doesn’t like kids, and he’s not here. That’s what Wren was going to say, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sound of the other shoe dropping.
Great sex with the man is just that, great, but I don’t come alone. I’m a package with three very wild, very boisterous kids. Not liking my kids is a sure sign we’re not compatible.
“He hasn’t said he doesn’t like your kids specifically,” Wren says, reading my face. “It’s just he’s never—”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, even though it’s anything but fine.
I’m more upset about the loss of what I let myself imagine having with the man than anything else. He’s allowed his own viewpoint. It’s fine that he doesn’t want kids or a woman who comes tied to three.
I’m upset at myself for letting my mind even picture a future. I blame the sight of him fixing their plates when they insisted on chicken nuggets. I read too much into him persuading Knox to eat meat. I was too hopeful at the sound of Kayleigh’s giggle when she walked out and found us cuddled on the couch.
I let myself dream, and I should know better.
Dreams are meant for people other than me, for those who haven’t been crushed under reality over and over.
“Kendall, please—”
“Wow!” Knox screams as he runs to Jude, a man I’d met here before. “What’s that?”
I let the interaction between my youngest son and the other man distract me, because if I don’t, I may cry, and that’s not a conversation I want to have with Wren or my kids.
“It’s a gas mask,” Jude says, holding the thing out so Knox can get a better look.
“For your brother’s stinking toots?” Knox asks, his nose scrunching up.
“More like deadly bombs while facing enemy combatants.”
Knox frowns. “Deadly?”
“These are meant to protect,” Jude says, his eyes widening when Knox’s little chin begins to quiver.
Knox looks in my direction. “I don’t have one. Am I going to die?”
I narrow my eyes at Jude, judging the man for not considering what he says despite not having kids himself.
“You don’t need—”
“Holy cow! Is that a real bomb?!”
I spin around. Kason is standing in front of Kit Riggs, the weapons expert for Blackbridge Security, who has a fucking grenade in his hand.
“Seriously!” I yelp, rushing to my son when Kit stupidly holds the thing out for Kason to take.
“Just don’t pull the pin,” Kit warns, and of course my son, the one to test every single damn boundary put before him, pulls the fucking pin.
I lunge, but I’m not fast enough. The pin drops to the ground, and I’m still several feet away.