Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
"How?"
How the fuck does she always know what I'm thinking?
"You aren't the only one who pays attention," she says after a minute. "I see the way you glance at your phone every time you talk about Brady or mention your job. You're worried about him."
She's right about that, too. I'm fucking livid that he missed that son of a bitch tailing him home. I'm furious that he lost his edge and put Carla and Andres in danger. That he put my family in harm's way…but I'm fucking worried about him too. He's my brother in everything but name. We've been through ten kinds of hell together.
Maybe Mila's making me soft. Maybe being with her is giving me a new perspective. I don't fucking know. All I know is that I'm worried about him and where his head is at with all this new shit with Guerrero popping up.
"I'll call him," I mutter, turning to kiss the side of her head. "You should go back to sleep. It's still early."
"Will you come back to bed after you talk to him?" she asks, cuddling up on my side of the bed when I stand.
"Yeah, baby."
"Okay." She smiles at me again, burrowing into my pillows.
My cock stirs as I watch her. Even bruised, she's gorgeous. I'm going to start destroying shit if I can't get in her again soon. I've managed to hold her off the last few days, but I'm not sure how much longer I can manage. With her constantly teasing me, I'm barely hanging on. And she is doing everything she can to make me lose it.
I want in her so fucking badly it hurts, but I don't know how to be gentle. I don't know how to be soft when I want her like I do. I want to give her soft and sweet and everything she deserves...but I don't know how to do that. I lose control every single time I have my hands on her sexy little body.
With those bruises all over her back and down her side, I can't help but worry I'll hurt her. Every time I think about finding her at the bottom of the stairs, not moving, it feels like my heart is being squeezed in a vise. I could have lost her, and that fact keeps fucking with my head.
"Love you," she mumbles through a yawn.
My heart fills at her words. That warm feeling in the center of my chest pushes out the worry and fear.
God, who knew love would feel so fucking good? I sure as hell didn't. I spent so long running from the mere thought of it that I never stopped to consider how goddamn good it could be. I think I was running toward her the entire fucking time, just waiting for the chance to make her mine.
I kiss her softly before slipping from the room to call Brady. Once I'm in the kitchen, it takes another ten minutes to convince myself to make the call. I'm actually nervous.
Brady answers on the third ring. "I didn't think you'd call," he says immediately.
"I didn't either," I confess, staring out at the beach. It's still dark out, barely even four in the morning. The full moon hangs low over the water. Incoming waves reflect it back until the entire ocean looks like a rippling mirror image of the night sky, stretching into forever.
"I fucked up, man," Brady says with a heavy sigh. "I don't even know what the fuck happened, Roman. I just wanted to get this shit done and over with, and I fucked up. I was so goddamn tired. I didn't see him tailing me. I didn't hear him when he came into the house. I didn't fucking know."
"How are Carla and Andres?" I ask, running a hand through my hair. My chest aches at his words. Finn told me he was fucked up over what happened, but I didn't know it was this bad. He sounds wrecked, torture evident in his voice. Anything I could say to him seems pointless now. He's in his own personal hell. I have a feeling what he's said to himself is punishment enough.
"They're–" he sighs again. "I don't know why she didn't fucking leave me, but she didn't."
"She loves you."
"Yeah." A thin, bitter laugh cracks down the line. "I'm fucking sorry you had to be the one who killed him, Roman."
"Don't even go there, brother," I tell him. "It doesn't fucking matter."
"Doesn't it?" he asks.
I think about his question for a minute, really fucking think about it. I don't regret killing the son of a bitch. When I have nightmares over that day, it's never about Javier Lopez, the cartel member I killed. When I think about pulling the trigger, I don't feel sympathy or guilt for him. All I feel is relief that Andres is alive, that Carla didn't have to watch her kid die. That Brady doesn't have to live with his son's death on his conscience. So, does it matter?