Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“Rachel,” he said, sounding surprised to see her. “You okay?”
She smiled. “Yes. I just came in search of coffee.”
And quiet.
“I’ll make one for you. There’s a ton of shit to put in it in the cabinet above me and in the fridge. Use whatever you like.”
“Not sure I’m a fan of shit in my coffee…”
Curly laughed. “Yeah, that does sound gross. I meant syrups and creamers and all kinds of nonsense Brooke and Liv like.”
“Not a fan of sweet coffee?”
He shuddered. “Hell no. Black is the only way to go.”
“Well, I hate to side against you, but I’m with Brooke on this one.”
He slapped a hand over his heart. “You wound me. I thought we’d bonded yesterday.”
That had her chuckling. They worked in silence to prepare their coffee then Curly grabbed a box of donuts and led her to an enormous wooden dining table. “Have a seat. If you were looking to be alone, I can hide out in my office.”
She had been, but now that he was here, she wanted his company. “No, please stay.”
They sat across from one another at the table. Curly set the box of donuts down and slid it her way. “Picked these up this morning. I’d eat one now. The vultures will be here in the next hour or so and they’ll pick this box dry.”
“Thanks.” She grabbed a glazed donut from the box. It was still warm and the hit of sugar complemented her coffee perfectly. “Oh, man, this is good,” she said around a mouthful.
“Right?” Curly ate half his donut in one bite.
They fell into a comfortable silence, munching and sipping as the morning ticked by.
After a solid few minutes, Curly set his mug down. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“It’s personal so don’t feel obligated to discuss it.”
With a heavy sigh, Rachel looked him in the eye. “You want to know why I freaked out the first night I came here?”
He tilted his head. Today, his curly hair, much like hers, hung past his shoulders. “Yes. But it’s more than that. I’m your family. Your brother. Your blood. Even though we just met, and probably because I’m so much older, I feel protective. I want to know you and your past so I can make sure my men and I treat you the way you need and deserve.”
Crap. Her eyes stung. “Curly, I…” The words wouldn’t come. She took a breath and a moment to gather herself, then tried again. “I want that too. And I want you to give me the same. I want to know you. Everything I know is from what I’ve read in news articles.”
His grin held a heavy sadness. “My story isn’t easy,” he said.
She grunted as a familiar weight entered her chest. “Neither is mine.”
“Well then, it sounds like we’re a perfect sibling match.”
Heartbreaking, but maybe her happy ending waited here for her with the Handlers in Florida.
“When I was fourteen, I was sent to a foster home in a fairly rural area of Minnesota. My foster dad was this huge hulk of a man. Almost as big as Jinx. The family fostered a slew of kids varying in age. They also had one son of their own. He was nineteen and straight-up evil. The kind of guy who took pleasure in being mean to animals. His dad bailed him out no matter what trouble he got into. In his parents’ eyes, he could do no wrong even though the rest of the world saw him for the budding psychopath he was.”
“I know the type,” he said before his lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure. “Both the father and son.”
“Yeah. Anyway, the son was always watching me. It creeped me the hell out, so I started avoiding him at all costs. It worked for a while. I could go days without laying eyes on him.”
Too bad it hadn’t lasted.
“Then he started showing up in my room at night.”
“Motherfucker.” The curse was spat with so much vehemence Rachel whipped her head around. Frost stood in the entrance to the kitchen wearing a scowl so fierce she’d have worried for the safety of anyone who stood in his way.
“Frost…” Curly said as he straightened.
Rachel couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. At the anger and promise of violence in his gaze. It wasn’t aimed at her but on her behalf. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I want him to know.”
Curly’s gaze pinged between them, and he let out a resigned sigh before spearing Frost with a look that she could only describe as hurt-my-sister-and-they’ll-never-find-your-body.
Frost kept his attention on her as he walked into the room. He took the seat next to her and when she turned to him, he grasped her chin and laid a soft kiss on her lips.
Her face heated at the same time her insides melted to warm goo.