Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I can’t even imagine what the fuck is in here, considering the shit that was in the safe.
“Aria.”
“Busy,” she sings sarcastically.
I glare at her over my shoulder, but I hold my tongue because I want to look first, see what other secrets Geoffrey Morgan is hiding.
“What’s your birthday Aria?”
“May seventeenth, nineteen ninety-eight.” She laughs. “You plan on buying me a present?”
I laugh and press the digits on the keypad. “You mean keeping you alive isn’t enough?” The latch pops open, revealing a much smaller space, and I push it up with my fingertips.
“That’s more of a gift for the world. I prefer jewels.”
I laugh, but my focus is on the glinting gold that I can see but can’t quite figure out what it is. “Of course you do.”
Girls like Aria think the more something costs, the more special it is. I stick two fingers inside the small area, wondering how in the fuck Morgan got anything at all into this tiny space. The only way he could have gotten anything into the smaller safe was if he put it in first, which means it’s vitally important. Then I touch it. My fingertips clasp something hard and metal. I don’t want to believe what my brain is telling me. I freeze.
“Shit.”
“What,” Aria asks absently.
I don’t answer, but when I pull the object out, I’m struck fucking dumb.
“Unreal.” In my hands isn’t just a metal something. It’s attached to what at first, I think is a leather case because I want it to be a leather case. But of course, it isn’t just a fucking leather case. It’s a goddamn badge.
“Aria,” I bark at her to get her attention.
“What?” She answers in that same dismissive way of hers but fuck that, I’m not having it today.
I cross the room and grab a handful of her hair, pulling it back so her gaze meets mine. “Did you know anything about this?”
I hold the leather object up so she can see the badge and identification card showing a photo of a very young and clean-cut Geoffrey Morgan. “Did you?”
“Ow!” She smacks at my hand, but I don’t release her. “Did I know what?”
I step closer, until barely an inch separates us. “Did you know that your fucking father is fucking DEA?”
“What?” she screeches. “No way! Are you sure you can even read?”
I keep a tight grip on her hair and step back, forcing her to stand up while I read the badge.
“Steven Morgan Jefferson. Date of birth, December fourth, nineteen sixty-nine. Badge issue date, January nineteen ninety-one. Fucking nineteen ninety-one, Aria. That’s years before you were born. So tell me the fucking truth right now.”
“No, okay! I don’t know a goddamn thing about it. Where did you find this?”
“In the safe within the safe. Your birthday opened it up right up.”
She snorts. “At least he knows my birthday.”
“Focus, Aria. This badge says that your father is a DEA agent and has been for more than thirty years.”
“His name is Geoffrey Morgan, not Steven Jefferson.”
“Exactly. Which means he’s undercover. Tell me what you know,” I bark angrily.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Aria
“I don’t know shit,” I squeal, which makes me feel like a total fucking idiot. How could I not know something so important?
“How could he hide this from me?” My hand snakes up Lucky’s arm to grip his wrist. The grip he has on my hair is pissing me off and turning me on at the same time, making it impossible to focus on this critical information. “Let me go, you animal.”
His lips curl into a dark smile, and his grip tightens, and I swear that pleasure-pain sensation goes straight to my pussy.
“Answer me,” he barks.
My hands fall to my sides, forcing him to adjust his hold. “This is news to me, Lucky. I swear. Was there anything else in the safe?”
His hand loosens, and he releases his grip on my hair, shoving me into the desk chair and glaring so intensely, I fear he’s burning a hole in my head.
“Stay,” he orders.
My nostrils flare at his command, but I clamp my thighs shut because, apparently, the demanding thing does it for me. “I’m not a fucking dog.”
He smiles. “Who can tell when you’re such a bitch all the time?”
“Asshole,” I grumble to myself and focus on his ass while he’s facing Daddy’s safe. It’s a fine ass encased in denim, but even the sight of it isn’t enough to make me forget that my father has been lying to me my entire life.
“It doesn’t make any sense. Daddy is a successful businessman, and he has a few shady associates.”
Though, based on all the information I uncovered today, it’s more than a few shady associates. As hard as it is to admit, I have no clue about my father’s life.
Lucky grunts, and then turns to face me. “It’s just more paperwork,” he says, a folder about two inches thick in his hand.