Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
This is it.
This is how it all ends.
How I’m going to die.
Every moment of my life plays on an endless reel in my mind.
Callum’s face flashes before my eyes, followed by my father's.
I’ve let them down. I’ve let our baby down.
Tatum might be dead, and I’m next. Tears fall from my eyes, leaving cold streaks on my cheeks.
“Now,” he murmurs. “It’s your turn.”
CALLUM
“You can tell summer's winding down.”
I look up from the spreadsheet Romero insisted we compile—always organized, which I suppose I should be grateful for even if a Friday evening spent poring over spreadsheets isn’t my idea of a good time. “What do you mean?”
“It's already starting to get dark, and it's barely past seven o'clock.”
Sure enough, a look out the window confirms this. “I wonder how long the girls will be out.”
“You know how it gets sometimes. Crack open a bottle of wine or two, and time melts.”
“I don't think they'll be doing that tonight.” When he lifts an eyebrow, I break the news I've been waiting all week to share. “This stays between us, but Bianca is pregnant.”
Now both brows lift. “Oh. I... congratulations?”
I can't help but grin. “Yes, congratulations are in order.”
“And she's happy about it?”
“You know. Things are still complicated.” I'm trying to be kind toward Charlie for her sake, but I can't pretend his bias against me isn't a real pain in the ass at a time like this. My little bird should feel free to enjoy this monumental event, something that should bring her joy. Instead, she's too concerned about what he'll think. She thinks I don't notice how she sometimes drifts off, frowning, chewing her lip while absentmindedly stroking her belly. If only I could snap my fingers and take it all away.
“I'm happy for you.” Though concern does touch his features before he asks, “How does Tatum feel about it? I assume she knows.”
“It seems she's coming around. This dinner is a good sign.”
Like magic, his worry lines smooth out. “Good. Nobody needs her throwing tantrums around the house. No offense.”
“None taken. I don't like it when she loses her shit any more than you do.” Clearing my throat, I turn my attention back to the list of names, every member of our crew. They're broken down by the shifts they usually take, then grouped into three’s. Three seemed to be a manageable number.
Beside them are the stories we came up with. Moving to Europe, selling the property, getting married, and so on. I can already imagine Amanda blowing her top over each one.
“What about the pregnancy? We could use that as a lure. It’ll drive her up a wall.”
I shake my head. “No such luck. She already knows.”
“Of course she does. She's a goddamn spider, sitting in the center of her web, waiting to strike.”
“I've never heard it put so succinctly.”
By the time we have everything in place, the clock now reads eight-fifteen. I check my phone, expecting something from Bianca, except there's nothing other than the text telling me they were going to dinner in the first place.
Me: Everything alright? Did you decide to make it a long night?
No, eight o'clock isn’t exactly long, but it is when they had met up at five. Romero's right. Time can melt away, and I doubt Tatum would refrain from cracking open a bottle of wine just because Bianca can’t drink. Still, three hours seems a little excessive without a heads-up that they're doing something else.
“I'm going to the kitchen to get something to eat. Do you want anything?”
I'm tempted to say yes, but I stretch and rise from my desk instead. “I should at least take the trouble to walk down the hall.” Otherwise, I'll sit and stare at my phone, willing Bianca to text me back.
We pass a window, and I see two of my men standing guard. I hate the way it feels necessary to play a game and act like nothing's out of order. All the while, I question their respectful treatment, willing myself to pretend the way at least one of them is. I can only hope there isn't more than one, or this plan with Romero will fall to pieces if Amanda gets conflicting reports from two different sources.
I force myself to push the concerns away while the two of us fix sandwiches using cold cuts from the refrigerator. Looking outside, I find myself admiring the effect the pool lights have on the patio, casting ripples over the concrete, the chairs, and the tables. Merely months ago, my little bird caught me out there with a woman whose name I can't remember. That night set me on the path I now walk.
And I want nothing more than to be in that pool with her, preferably naked, preferably sunk deep in her tight heat. She needs to get home soon, before the heaviness in my balls kills me.