Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“You should draw,” he says. “That picture of Archie was incredible. You’ve got talent.”
“Do you know how rare it is to make it as an artist? In the meantime, I’d have to work to live.”
“No, you don’t,” he growls, sitting up, infused with fire.
“I would,” I reply. “Everybody has to work. Just because you think I’ve got talent—”
“I know you’ve got talent.”
“It doesn’t mean the rest of the world would agree.”
“You won’t have to—”
I wonder what he was going to say. He hinted I wouldn’t have to work. Maybe he was going to say something similar. My heart sparkles as I imagine him telling me I never have to worry about work or money or anything, just us, our family, just a life more magical than I ever could’ve envisioned.
Suddenly, the door crashes open behind us. It’s Dorman, the guard who took me and Archie to the vet. Thankfully, the little guy seems fully recovered now.
“Malcolm’s on the phone,” he says.
“Does he know where Dad is?” I ask breathlessly.
Dorman looks at Blake as if asking his permission. With a subtle nod from Blake, Dorman goes on.
“Yeah, he’s got the location. Enzo wants to meet. He’s demanding that Bonnie be there.”
I stare at Blake. “Remember what you promised.”
“We’re taking extra guards,” he snaps at Dorman. “A separate car for Bonnie with four men in it. If anybody tries to hurt her, you’ll sacrifice your life to keep her safe.”
“Boss,” Dorman says, turning for the door.
“I don’t want to get anybody hurt,” I murmur once he’s gone.
“Then stay behind,” he snaps.
We both know he could make me. It comes back to what he said about him not wanting me to view him as a bad person.
“If I do that, Dad might get hurt. I’m coming.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Blake
Enzo gives us a location outside the city, a nonoperational mill that looks ready for demolition. It sits in the middle of a large gravel parking lot, half a mile off the main road. My men are quiet as the driver guides us toward the mill.
Bonnie’s in the car behind us with four of my most trusted men. I have given each one of them strict orders to do whatever’s necessary to keep her safe.
The driver stops in the parking lot. There are two cars parked out front, so Enzo’s here somewhere.
Picking up my walkie talkie, I radio the other car. “Lock the doors. Don’t let Bonnie out until I give the signal.” If I give the signal. I’ve got the cash in the trunk. There might be a way out of this without including Bonnie. The cars are bulletproof and explosive-resistant, meaning Bonnie will be safe inside.
“If anything happens to us,” I go on, “take Bonnie back to the estate.”
“Boss,” comes the reply.
I climb from the car, my hand near my hip and my weapon. The mill has few windows, a couple of them shattered. I’m wearing a bulletproof vest, but a well-placed shooter could still take me out. The windows appear to be empty.
As I approach—Malcolm at my side and two other men behind us—Enzo and a gang of his men emerge from the entrance. His gold tooth winks as he grins. He looks amped-up, his steps jittery, as if he’s getting ready for a fight.
He’s got five men, and two of them are holding Cameron.
My walkie’s in the car, but I know Bonnie must gasp when she sees him. She’s probably demanding for my men to let her out, my woman with the passion in her heart, the fire in her gut, the caring, maternal instinct which will never extinguish.
Cameron doesn’t look injured. His clothes are dusty and dirty, but he seems unharmed, and he’s walking without the assistance of Enzo’s men. He meets my eye with a look I recognize from childhood, half guilt and half fear. It drags me back to the past, but I close off that part of myself, remember the war, remember the killing, remember who I have to be to keep my woman safe.
Enzo takes a step forward. He doesn’t seem to realize how outgunned he is. As I search the faces of his men, I don’t see readiness there. I don’t see grit. They’ve made a mistake, and they know it. I don’t think they’re even wearing bulletproof vests, the amateurs.
“Did you bring the cash?” Enzo says. “And the girl?”
“No,” Cameron says, his voice weak, reminding me of the shell he became after Isla’s death. “I told you. My daughter is not part of—”
“You don’t get to decide that,” Enzo shouts, wheeling on him. “Shut your mouth or we’ll shut it for you.”
“You won’t do that,” I growl. “If you were going to hurt him, you would have. You think you’re playing a clever game, Enzo. You think you can kidnap people and get your sick kicks, and as long as you don’t go too far, you’ll get out of this in one piece.”