Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
My next stop, I buy a Nike hat. And then I go into the first store I see where I can buy a burner phone. Now to get the fuck out of here.
I can’t order an Uber without using my credit card, and if I paid with that, they could trace the trip and know exactly where I’m going. Which … I don’t exactly know where that is.
The back of my mind tickles with the one person I don’t want to turn to. His name is like a blinking neon sign that I want to unplug.
Travis West is not an option.
Over the years, our cat-and-mouse game has only gotten worse. He loves tormenting me and driving me crazy.
That one “favor” he did for me, that turned out to not be a favor at all, has been held over my head ever since. It set off the chain of events that have had me reluctantly working with the cocky asshole.
We release a statement saying we’re looking for a person in connection to a drug bust or a house raid, and he’ll dump that wanted person at my doorstep. Says it’s a favor. Then he asks me to arrest some tech genius for stalking and trespassing against one of his high-profile clients, or he’ll ask for the official police records of someone he’s been hired to investigate. He tips me off about something big going down and then somehow beats me to infiltrating the inner circle of a suspected drug trafficker. And he does it all with a damn cocky smile on his rugged face.
Every time he turns up wanting something, I know it’s going to be an annoying couple of days. It’s like he keeps coming back into my life to remind me he’s still there. He’s still the same man who turned me inside out.
It would be a successful professional relationship if he wasn’t so fucking arrogant and determined to remind me that he’s had me once and he’ll have me again.
He treats it like a game, and while I appreciate the tips and the help, the payoff isn’t always worth it.
I hate him.
Even though, all these years later, I still want him. Well, his dick, to be precise. The man it’s attached to, I could take or leave. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of giving in to him.
He’s made it no secret that he wants me again. He spouts bullshit about me being the love of his life to taunt me, which is both infuriating and helpful. It’s really helpful in making sure I keep that professional distance between us. It convinces me that Travis West needs to remain a one and done.
Until the next time I see him when I start to question it again. But like a vicious circle, it keeps happening.
He shows up. Lust hits me in the gut. He opens his mouth. I’m cured of it.
I order a taxi on my phone under a fake name and opt to pay cash to the driver. When my ride arrives, I slip into the back seat but keep my head low.
When the driver talks to me, I’m conversational and polite.
I could have offered him two hundred bucks—double his fare—for him to say that he never saw me if he was asked, but that would raise red flags. If I’m as nondescript as possible, the chances are he’ll likely forget me anyway.
I get the driver to drop me off outside a random house, and then I’ll walk to Trav’s.
Only problem is, I have no idea what to say when I get there.
As I arrive at his stupid mansion that he bought a couple of years ago, I can’t help the bitterness creeping in. He’s taking over the world with his “security company.”
I know I’m already under surveillance. Hell, I probably was since I entered his street. The gate opens up immediately before I hit the buzzer because they know me.
The number of times I’ve barged my way in here over the years to chew out Trav for ruining an investigation of mine is scarily high.
A man I know as Domino answers the door and lets me in. “He’s in a meeting.”
“This is kind of important.”
Domino stares me down. He’s similar in physique to Trav, a little smaller, and the dark scruff on his chin is the opposite to Trav’s lighter permanent five-o’clock shadow. “You look like shit.”
“Being shot at does that to a person.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “I’ll take you to Trav.”
And here comes the moment where I have to swallow my pride and ask for help from the one man I said I would never go crawling to for information again. Because it always comes with strings.
Domino opens the door, and there stands Trav, all domineering and only hotter since he turned forty. How can someone in their forties look that mouthwatering? It should be illegal.