Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
On the next street, he leads us to a nondescript building.
Entering a code into a keypad by the door, he steps inside. “Welcome to my garage.”
The overhead lights click on as we enter, illuminating a huge, windowless room.
Not just any garage.
The spotless floors shine with glossy gray paint, and holy fuck, this place is massive, stretching out at least ten cars deep. It reminds me of the Batcave, only brighter, shinier, and even more impressive.
Car lifts suspend hypercars in mid-air, giving the whole place a high-tech, futuristic vibe. And the cars…
Everywhere I look is a Ferrari, Lamborghini, Bugatti, Koenigsegg, the list goes on. I also spot luxury cars—a Bentley, Rolls-Royce, and Range Rover—each one polished to perfection, reflecting the lights like mirrors.
Kody and I exchange a glance, our eyes wide. He doesn’t know the names of most of these rare, exotic beauties. He didn’t devour the car and motorcycle magazines that Denver brought home like I did. But he understands finances and the value of the dollar.
Denver was passionate about economics and taught us everything he studied and researched. Kody’s probably thinking about all the things he could do if he had even a fraction of this wealth.
Monty strolls among the cars, inspecting a fender, dusting off a headlight, clearly proud of his collection. Honestly, I can’t blame him. Each car here probably costs more than I’ll earn over the course of my entire life.
“This is some serious hardware.” I whistle low, unable to wrap my head around the sheer amount of money sitting in this room. “You could buy a small country with what’s in here.”
“These cars are museum pieces. Rare works of art. I don’t drive them.” Monty grins, enjoying our reactions.
I amble over to a Lamborghini Aventador, my fingers itching to touch it. The paint job is flawless, a deep, glossy black that swallows all the light around it.
Next to it is a Koenigsegg Jesko, one of the rarest cars in the world. The carbon fiber body resembles something out of a sci-fi movie, all sharp angles and aerodynamic curves. The red paint is too bright for my tastes, but the craftsmanship, the power…this machine is built for one thing. Speed.
“We’re taking this one out for driving lessons, right?” I thrust my thumb at it.
“Sure.” Monty lifts a shoulder. “Any one you want.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I was.”
“Which one is the easiest to handle?” Kody crosses his arms, glancing around. “And holds more than two passengers?”
“The Bentley.” Monty nods toward the rear of the garage.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say boring. But no one would call a Bentley boring.
“This is wild.” I shake my head. “When you find something you like, you don’t fuck around.”
“You could say that.” Monty’s voice drops, his expression darkening.
He’s no longer thinking about his damn car collection.
Kody stiffens beside me.
“Enough gawking.” Monty takes off toward the Bentley. “Let’s get to work.”
“Let it go.” I clap Kody on the shoulder. “Focus on learning.”
We follow Monty deeper into the garage. As much as his obsession with Frankie eats me up, I get it. He wants the best of the best, and she’s worth more than his yacht, jet, private island, and car collection combined.
And she’s the one thing he can’t have.
We pile into the Bentley, Monty in the driver’s seat. I sit beside him in the front with Kody in the back. The engine roars to life, and he takes us out of the garage.
As we drive through the town, people turn their heads to watch us pass. Either the Bentley is an unusual sight in this remote town or they recognize the man driving it. Probably both.
We cross over a bridge, and I roll down the window, savoring the scent of saltwater and pine in the air.
“How did Frankie meet Rhett?” I ask. “Did he hire her?”
“They met in Anchorage during her residency. When he accepted the Chief of Surgery position and moved to Sitka, he brought her with him. She grew up here, so it was an easy decision for her. Especially since her mom had just been diagnosed with cancer.”
Once we’re out of the town, Monty hits the gas, and the car surges forward, taking us onto the rural Alaskan mountain roads. The scenery changes rapidly, giving way to vast stretches of untamed wilderness.
Towering pine trees flank the road, their dark green needles brushing against the cerulean sky. Snow-capped mountains tower around us, the jagged peaks piercing the horizon.
The road twists and turns, carving a path through the rugged terrain. Every now and then, we catch glimpses of wildlife. A deer darting across the pavement. An eagle soaring high above. The beauty of this place is raw and untouched. It feels more like home.
“You met her in the hospital?” I glance at his stony profile. “You were her patient?”