Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 46751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
"I'm not stalking her. I just want to check on her. Once I know she's okay, I'll leave."
"How the fuck is that not stalking?" I growl.
"Okay, fine. Maybe it's technically stalking. But I'm not going to do anythin' crazy. I just want to make sure she's okay."
There's something in his gaze I've become acutely familiar with. It's the same damn thing I see in mine every time I look in the mirror. My older brother is in love. He may be a lot of things, but he's not generally obsessive. He's acting like a fucking madman because this girl matters to him. Perhaps more than anything has ever mattered to him.
Nothing ruffles Zayne. Nothing shakes him. He's solid. He does what the fuck he wants to do and says what he wants to say. He doesn't mince words and doesn't particularly care if he stomps all over your feelings. He's direct and to the point and always has been. He drives Zion nuts because he's more likely to rattle skulls than listen to explanations. But he isn't typically irrational. This is a new side of him.
One I understand because I see it in myself. If I couldn't be near Kenna, there's nothing I wouldn't do to spend five minutes breathing the same air as her. Love makes all of us a little crazy, doesn't it? Most of us are just fortunate enough to get to be crazy together. He hasn't had that opportunity yet.
"Are you stayin' or going?" Zayne asks, his key in the door.
"Uh, I'm going with you." Someone needs to go with him. Just in case he decides to do something even more illegal than he already is.
Jesus Christ. I can't believe I'm aiding and abetting this shit.
He shrugs like it doesn't matter to him one way or another and then motions me out of the office.
I follow him out to his truck.
"How's your case going?" he asks once we're on the road.
I grunt instead of answering.
"How's Kenna?"
I grunt again.
"Well, you're pleasant fuckin' company." He shoots me an inquisitive look. "It's that bad, huh?"
"Something like that."
I haven't told my brothers that I'm in love with her yet. I keep meaning to have that conversation, but I can't ever seem to catch them in the same place at the same time. When I do, it never seems like the right time. I'm not worried about what they'll say. Frankly, I don't care. She's mine, and that's just how it's going to be. But with everything so fucked up right now, I don't want to give her anything else to worry about. If they get pissy about it and she finds out, she'll be upset.
Not that Zayne has a whole lot of room to talk right now. We're on the way to stalk his…I don't even know what the fuck she is, actually. The fucked-up irony of this situation isn't lost of me. I'm aiding and abetting my idiot brother while trying to protect the love of my life. On the surface, it looks fucking terrible, there's no disputing that. But there's one major difference. Zayne isn't a psycho.
He would never hurt Emma. She could turn him down every day for the rest of his life, and he'd never lift a finger to hurt her. He'd never send her fucked up poems and dead birds. He'd never take dozens of photos and send them to her just to scare her. He'd spend the rest of his life doing exactly what he's doing now…stealing what glimpses of her he's able to take and hoping they're enough to sustain him until he's allowed to see her again.
"How often do you do this?" I ask when he pulls up in a residential neighborhood and parks along the curb.
"Too often," he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. "And not nearly often enough."
"Jesus, man. You're so fucked."
"You think I don't know that?" He shoots me a death glare. "I've been fucked since she walked through the doors."
I shake my head, leaning back against the seat with my eyes closed.
A few minutes later, a call rings through his speakers.
"Zion," he mutters, pressing the button on his console to answer.
I close my eyes again.
"What are you doing?" Zion asks.
"Stalking Emma."
"Why do I bother asking you questions when I know damn well you're going to tell me the truth?" Zion mutters into the phone. "I refuse to be your accomplice, motherfucker."
"Don't worry, I'm not doing anything illegal."
"Except stalking," I remind him, peeling one eye open to look at him.
"Fucking hell. You roped Gideon into helping you?" Zion growls. "What the fuck, Zayne?"
"I'm not helping him. I'm just enjoying the shitshow." I'm full of shit, but Zion doesn't know that. And what he doesn't know is always amusing for me. Stressing him out is peak entertainment.
"Uh, fuck both of you. This isn't a shitshow. I don't need help. And it's only illegal if the stalking is unwanted."