Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Yeah, so jet-lagged and shit. I’ve had a bunch of phone calls. The press somehow always gets my number. Apparently, there are rumors that the Disciples are behind this mass murder—taking out the Russian mob.”
I take a sip of the bitter, rich brew. Leave it to Granger to have the best coffee. Now all I need is a cigarette.
Raising a brow, I lean against the counter. He lights up a cigarette and tosses the pack to me.
“Which is fucked up because you’re on my security tape. I sent this footage over to Powers and the FBI.” My eyes narrow as I light up my cigarette.
“Play security tape last night, 8:30 PM,” Granger speaks, and the TV screen comes to life. The footage displays every angle of the property. It’s in color and clear, as you see me walk up and enter the house from the back.
“Christ.” I inhale on my cigarette. You can easily see that I’m breaking the lock.
“Yeah, you owe me a new door,” he says dryly. “I’m sure Julianna thought it romantic that you were surprising her.” The camera shows everything: my face, my cut. There is no denying this is me. I wasn’t hiding.
“Little disappointed my security team didn’t notice you, but you’re an ex-Navy SEAL, so maybe I won’t fire their asses.” He takes a sip of coffee. “I thought the FBI should have the original copy as it clearly shows the time you showed up here as 8:33 PM.” He motions with his coffee cup.
How the fuck did Granger change the time stamp?
“I told the FBI I’m a Good Samaritan trying to help them find the real killers.” He looks back at the screen as we both watch me close the door.
“And you don’t come out. I sent them all the footage I have of the whole week, so their experts can see it’s legit.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, inhaling deeply.
“Well, that’s got to piss the Feds off.” It’s all I can think to say.
My mind is spinning at what Granger’s done. He’s given me an alibi, and I can’t say shit—we don’t know if his place is bugged.
“Yeah, Powers said they were disappointed. They really wanted to pin it on you, but my state-of-the-art shit can’t be tampered with, and it’s plain that that’s you. The Russians were taken out around the same time.” He shrugs as a small smile tugs at his lips. “I’m only a musician, but even I know you can’t be in two places at the same time.” He clamps the cigarette with his teeth and pours another cup of coffee.
“Good seeing you, man. Me casa is your casa,” he calls over his shoulder and walks out of the kitchen with that famous grin.
“Thanks, brother.” It’s all I can say, because this is a gift that takes me a moment to recover from. Fucking Granger just saved my ass, all our asses. I blink out at the ocean peacefully rolling forward and back out, my heart pounding.
He didn’t have to do that. He’s putting himself at risk for me, an unselfish act in such a selfish world.
Yet is it? My whole life I’ve let all my brothers have things that I’ve purposely denied myself because deep inside I knew I didn’t deserve it.
But somehow, they believe that I do. Rhys, Blade, all my brothers, my family believe that I’m worthy of all things, love being one of them.
But can the devil truly love?
“Ryder?” Julianna cocks her head at me, wearing flared jeans and a tight, black Stuffed Muffins T-shirt. The morning sun shines behind her, and for a second, I rub that spot nearest my heart.
She’s exquisite, stunning, but it’s her soul that brings me to my knees. She’s kind and giving, beautiful inside and out. And she loves me. Accepts all my flaws, even knowing that I’m fucked up.
And she loves me.
“Come here, baby.”
She glides into my arms. With a smirk, I give her my cup of coffee, watching her pretty hands bring the cup to her puffy lips. As she takes a sip, my cock gets hard.
“It’s cold.” She smirks back at me and again, one smile from her removes that tightness from my chest.
I reach for the pot and pour her a fresh cup. She gazes out the large window.
“You ready to go home?” It sounds crazy and foreign on my lips. Gently, I trail my hand through her soft hair. Her unique scent of apples and lemonade makes me dip my head and inhale.
“Yes, I am,” she whispers, and I feel her smile.
“You don’t mind living in a clubhouse?” I grin as my nose trails up to her cheek.
“I kind of like it,” she rasps.
As I look down at her, she peers up at me, questioning, almost as if she can feel the shift in my psyche.