Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
He paused again. Worry intruded on his happy memories of their moments together. He’d never seen Dom so upset, so on the edge of panic. The guy always had a smile on his lips, that look of happy-go-lucky ease and contentment. The way he’d left Abe’s house last night was wrong.
And what about the car following him? Pretty coincidental, considering the stick figure drawings showing up everywhere.
A return of the restlessness that had been driving him crazy lately crept through him.
Was all this a midlife crisis? The agitation, the paranoia…Dom?
He swore and stood to throw the piece of sandpaper, but it wasn’t a very satisfactory heave since it only went a couple of feet before hitting the floor. He should throw something larger.
Or just do what he damn well wanted.
Abe stomped through his house to shower the sweat off his body and not long after, he was steering his truck to Dom’s. He opened and closed his hands on the steering wheel and by the time he’d gotten to Mount Airy, he’d realized fear was tearing him up. That a genuine feeling of wrongness had been plaguing him since the first drawing. And there’d been something in Dom’s expression the night before that told him the messages were not good.
But what could they be? They looked like children’s drawings.
He knew the man was a badass fighter with skills in martial arts, but Abe found he wanted to look out for him. To protect him just like he knew Dom would do for him.
He pulled in to the right of Dom’s car, turned off his truck, his heart beating like a bass drum in his chest. Maybe this was a bad idea. Dom was a freaking professional bodyguard. The man was trained to handle intense, dangerous situations. What was he hoping to do? He turned the key again, planning to pull back out, but Dom stepped out onto his deck and grinned at him. The absolute mischievous slant to that smile told him that the guy was reading his mind. There was a lot in that smile. Delight and amusement—like he was thrilled Abe had come but knew he was about to flee.
So instead, he took a deep, calming breath. They wouldn’t have to do anything he wasn’t ready for. He got out of the truck and his cell phone clattered to the concrete. He kneeled to swipe it up and something caught his eye. He gasped when he realized it was another, different set of stick figures.
This time, some asshole had keyed them into the side of Dom’s beautiful, white Beretta. He aimed his phone at the symbols, hoping Dom couldn’t see the flash.
“What are you doing out there?” Dom called out.
He hurriedly pocketed his phone and stood. “You aren’t going to like what I’m looking at, Dom.”
Dom came down the steps and around his car.
“Jesus Christ!” He strode close and kneeled, his chest heaving. “That sadistic motherfucker.”
“Do you know who’s doing this?”
Dom just…deflated. His shoulders slumped, his eyes closed, and he put both hands in his hair. Then it was like a switch had been flipped, and he was looking into the dark shadows of the trees surrounding his property, his body alert and tense.
“Dom?”
“We gotta talk, Abe. But we need to do it inside, okay?”
“Anything,” he said softly, clasping his hand on Dom’s shoulder. “I’m here for anything you need. I’d like to know what’s going on. What’s upsetting you.”
He just nodded, then surprised Abe when he took his hand off his shoulder and threaded their fingers together. He tugged. “Come on. This is going to require a stronger drink than beer.”
Abe hated the sound of that.
Dom’s mind raced as he led Abe inside. He let go of his hand and walked through the house into the kitchen, where he kept the good booze in one of his upper cabinets. He poured them each a glass of bourbon.
He couldn’t tell him everything because it would kill him to see what Abe was starting to feel for him fade out of those beautiful eyes. He stared into them as he handed Abe a glass. They were such a gorgeous shade of brown, warm and caring. They could fill with passion so fast, it made Dom’s head spin. The man made his head spin.
He couldn’t lose the ground he’d gained—he just couldn’t.
“Someday…maybe…I’ll tell you a story about a boy who didn’t have a lot of choices growing up, but right now, I’m going to tell you part of his story. When he was twenty-two years old, he faked his death.”
Abe’s face paled.
Dom’s lips tightened, his palms sweating so badly he pulled a towel out of the drawer next to the sink. He ran it through his hands, twisting it into a rope. The rush of joy he’d felt when he’d heard Abe’s truck pull into his driveway had been so intense; the punch of fury over what his brother had done to his car had his head swimming. He’d just showered and thrown on comfortable shorts and a T-shirt. The past several minutes had been spent trying to talk himself out of sitting outside Abe’s house—in case James went back there.