Total pages in book: 200
Estimated words: 189898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 760(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 760(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
“That will never happen, but if somehow, I died and let you have him, you’d have Loren to thank, not me.” I shoved past him, clipping his shoulder before striding out the door.
An hour had passed when I heard shouting. I was out of my truck and ready to storm back inside when Loren came waltzing out of the door with a sinister smile and looking like himself again. His hair was slicked back, and he wore fitted navy blue pants that hung off his hips and a matching short-sleeve button-up that he’d left undone. The only noticeable difference was the medallion he no longer wore.
My heart was still pounding, however, until I saw the bag with all his shit packed inside and hanging from his shoulder.
Reaching the truck, he climbed inside, and so did I. I could smell the fresh mint from the gum he was chewing and the bergamot in his cologne as he slumped in his seat and got comfortable.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Lo mumbled without looking at me. He was busy staring through the windshield at his father, who was standing on his massive front porch, fuming and holding Loren’s medallion, which hung from his fingers.
Wasting no time, I hit the gas.
I then flipped off Orson James through my lowered window when I sped off with his only son riding shotgun.
I ignored my exhaustion after flying round-trip from Los Angles to Portland in one day as I climbed from the back of the town car Dani had arranged to pick us up. Together, Loren and I walked into the building that held Savant Records, with two of our private security trailing us. Our strides never broke with the knowledge that our girl was thirty floors up fighting Carl’s lawyers alone.
That was until we got through the building’s security and reached the bank of elevators.
Loren, spotting Rich waiting, stopped in his tracks. “I want to make something clear,” he said to me, jaw tight as he glared ahead at Rich, who watched him too but with bleakness in his gaze, “this doesn’t change anything. I’m here for Braxton, and that’s it. I’m done.”
Yeah, we’ll see about that.
“You really want to argue about this right now?”
“I’m not arguing. I’m telling you.”
“Let’s go,” I said dismissively. Loren wasn’t leaving shit, and it wasn’t because I’d make him stay. He couldn’t walk away any more than the rest of us. “We’re already late.”
Rich pushed away from the wall he was leaning against as we approached. For the first time in three weeks, he looked tempted to speak, but then Loren shoved the words back down his throat before he could utter them.
“Save it,” he snapped at the drummer. He then walked onto the empty elevator, leaving us no choice but to follow before the doors could close.
The entire way up, Rich stared at Loren from under the cloak of his hood while the bassist stared at the metal doors with no expression and pretended he didn’t notice. The tension was stifling, and when the elevator finally stopped and the doors opened, I hurried off before either of them.
We ignored the receptionist when we entered the office suite, and she yelled at our backs that Carl wasn’t expecting us.
No fucking shit.
He’d purposely left us out of this meeting.
Everyone in our path parted like the Red Sea when we stormed the hall. It wasn’t until we reached our destination and pushed inside the room, uninvited, that the feeling I’d been here before hit me.
Most of the seats at the long table were filled by suited men and women, including Oni Sridhar, and the man I assumed was the arbitrator. He stopped speaking mid-sentence when we entered.
All eyes were on us, but our eyes were for her.
She was seated at the head of the table, furthest away from the door. The exact spot I’d been standing when I saw her for the first time eight months ago when she burst into this very conference room and interrupted the meeting taking place then too. Even though she was dressed differently, and I knew better now, Braxton still looked as innocent today as she did then.
It was those big, brown eyes, light freckles, and her full mouth that never ceased to make a fool out of me. The only clue of the fire burning underneath was her red hair pinned up to show off her neck.
She was a living flame.
Our eyes met, yet she gave no reaction to us showing up. After what we’d done, just acknowledging our presence even briefly was more than we deserved.
I could only see her top half, but I recognized that sheer, black dress with crystal print and holographic detail. I knew the hem reached her calves. I knew there was a high slit showing off her left leg. I even recognized the black bra she wore underneath and knew she’d paired it with her favorite black boots. I couldn’t see her hands, but I knew she wore her rings. Braxton was part goth, part punk, and part boho. She didn’t want anyone figuring her out.