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)
The way he says that like it's a fact of life…I believe him.
"You're a good father," I say, and then pause when a waiter appears with bowls of chips, salsa, and guacamole. He sets everything on the table and then takes our drink orders before disappearing into the kitchen. "Tahani adores you."
Roman flashes me a smile, some of that tension melting away. "She had me wrapped around her little finger in a matter of days," he admits with a laugh. He sounds so proud, it's honestly adorable. "She was a little hellion, just like I was."
"Is that why you bought the condo here? To be closer to her?"
He nods and grabs a chip before scooping up some guac with it. He pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before he swallows. "I hate that I lost so much time with her," he says then. "I didn't get to watch her grow up, and I wanted to be a part of her life. Plus, I like it here. It's quiet."
"You said that earlier," I remind him. "About the restaurant."
"Eat," he says, scooping up more guac and then holding it out to me.
I lean forward and take a tentative bite. As soon as I do, I moan. It's some of the best I've ever had.
"Jesus," he mutters, watching me lick my bottom lip. He shakes his head as if to clear it.
"Why?" I ask my question from earlier again before popping another chip into my mouth.
"Why do I like it?" He waits for me to nod. "I can relax here."
"You can't relax in Los Angeles?"
His eyes are darker, desire and something else—an intense longing that makes my heart ache for him—peeking out as he shakes his head. He doesn't say anything as the waiter returns with our drinks. The young man takes our order, jotting it down in his little notebook before asking if we need anything else.
Once he's out of earshot, Roman speaks again, his voice soft. "In Los Angeles, there's always a fucking target on my back. It's hard to relax when you might not make it through the day in one piece."
His words, or maybe the way he says them so casually, like the possibility of him being killed is a fact of life, send anxiety shooting through me. The thought of something bad happening to him hurts. I've always told myself I only worried about him for Tahani's sake, but I think I was lying to myself. I think, well, I think it would devastate me if anything were to happen to him.
"I told you I don't work with ordinary criminals, baby," he says softly, reading my expression. "I work with some really fucked up people. The only thing they know is violence and vengeance. They deal in guns and drugs and worse. I know who they are. I know what they are. I'm not going to put myself in danger unnecessarily."
"Why do you do it?" I ask, wanting to understand. I've always known the gist of what he does, but I don't think I ever really thought about the risks before. Even when he told me about his partner's son and the man he killed, I didn't think too deeply about what that meant for him.
"Who else is going to?" he asks instead of answering. The corner of his lip tilts up in a gentle smile. He reaches out and snags my hand, lacing our fingers together. "I do what I do so people like you, people like Tahani, never have to know the fucked up things people are capable of doing to others. I never want that shit to touch you."
"Did you always want to go into law enforcement?"
"No. I had no interest in following in my father's footsteps until the day he got shot," he says. "I was eighteen, and he was trying to protect a woman from her abusive husband. The guy shot him in the chest. The guy's wife was at the hospital with us the entire time, standing vigil beside us until my dad died. I never understood until then exactly what he'd always tried to instill in me about honor and doing the right thing. The world needs people like us, so people like her, like you and Tahani, never have to deal with motherfuckers like that."
"Are you scared?" I whisper around the lump in my throat. He's so earnest, so sincere…it's wrecking me a little bit. He's wrecking me, letting me in like this. I have a feeling it's not something he does often or at all, and I don't know why he's giving me this piece of him, but I want it.
"Of being shot like he was? Of the people I work with? Of dying?" He shakes his head, his gaze locked on our hands as I cling to him. "No. I'm not afraid of that."