Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Without visual confirmation, it was difficult to understand exactly what was happening. But from the sounds and conversations, he knew she’d passed out, was separated from her weapons for a while, then used a stairwell to the lower levels of the compound. That was when he’d sent his fist through the wall.
“You’re gonna give yourself a coronary.” Van reclined on the couch, tracking his movements with a narrowed glare.
Van was notorious for his explosive temper, yet he’d remained chillingly calm when they’d listened to her rape a sobbing, pleading man. Maybe it was because Van had been in a similar situation and was the one person who could empathize with her.
Tate, on the other hand, had gone ballistic when she was in that basement chamber. His imagination had created all kinds of graphic images to fill in what he couldn’t see. It wasn’t until he’d heard the pain in her voice during her conversation with Badell that his vision cleared, and his head stopped pounding.
She was stuck in a living nightmare, and there was fuck all he could do about it when he couldn’t get to her.
But she was on the move now, stepping onto the street outside of the compound and turning…
“She’s not heading toward her apartment.” He strode toward the door, phone in hand and weapons concealed beneath his clothes.
Without a word, Van followed him out of the building and trailed a safe distance behind.
The tracking signal led Tate to a street market fifteen minutes away on foot. Although the tents were crowded with people, it didn’t take long to spot her raven-black hair amid the throng.
A thin shirt hung from her shoulders, the wide neckline clinging to the delicate peaks of her tits. Flat stomach and toned legs encased in denim, she had the body of a young girl, but she wore it like a woman. A woman who would fuck rigorously, unapologetically, in every position and manner he wanted.
And he wanted.
He wanted to feel her fall apart on his cock, hear her cry in relief, and see a glimmer of happiness on her face. But more than that, he wanted her safe and healthy and out of this city.
Her guards wouldn’t be far, so he kept his distance, marking her as she moved from stall to stall, touching the produce and staring at the meats. Jesus, she looked hungry, her gaze crawling over the food with ravenous longing, yet she didn’t buy anything.
Watching her poke through the market empty-handed produced a protective twinge in his chest. She was too thin, too alone, and given the dark circles around her eyes and the sag of her shoulders, too goddamn sad. Every bone in his body thrummed to take care of her.
As he slipped deeper into the market area, the sweet smell of slow-cooked meat and fried dough saturated the air. He paused within a few paces of her and directed his eyes on the hanging rope of bananas she’d caressed.
She must’ve sensed him, because she turned at the edge of his vision, and that deep brown gaze warmed the side of his face.
Knowing her guards were watching, he held out some bills to purchase a few bananas and gave her no reaction.
With a casual twist of her neck, she scanned the perimeter, likely searching for his backup.
Van stood at his nine o’clock across the street, and the moment she spotted him, her chest hitched with a sigh. Then she continued to the next stall.
From there, they eased into a wordless interplay. She touched or glanced at the foods she liked, and he bought them—bread, pork, strawberries, coconut cookies. When she reached the last tent, she selected a paper bag of tea and handed it to the merchant.
Tate sidled in behind her, fighting the impulse to rest a hand against the small of her back. He couldn’t touch her, but she was close enough to infuse his senses with hints of citrus and gun oil, sunshine and city air.
He didn’t look at her as he paid for the tea and whispered against her hair, “You’re not alone.”
Before she could respond, he left the bag of food on the table in front of her and strolled out of the market.
For the rest of the day, he sat in his apartment, listening to the receiver. The silence on her end stretched for miles while she sat by herself across the street. Hopefully, she was sleeping since she hadn’t slept at all last night.
He took a short nap, but it was restless, as his hearing was constantly tuned into the receiver. So he gave up and used the time to research her symptoms, leave messages for doctors in the States, and order the most comprehensive home blood test kit he could find online.
“Is that your plan?” Van gnawed on a toothpick, scrutinizing him. “An online blood test?”