Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“411 Dunston St.,” he croaked. “Penguin, Angel. Pen...”
His head drooped on my lap. Sunny used the last of his strength wandering streets, and the last of his adrenaline saving me from a fate I refused to imagine.
“You reckless, wonderful fool.” I kissed his forehead. “Si, help me carry him. We’re going to Dunston Street.”
Carrying him out of the factory, and crime scene, was the easy part. The difficulty came in flagging down a cab. Three drivers slowed, took one look at the shabby ladies holding an unconscious man, and sped off. Finally, one woman stopped and we hefted him onto the back seat. I rattled off the address.
“411? Are you sure you should be going there, honey? Nothing but trouble behind those doors.”
“Nothing but trouble behind the doors we left behind.”
She harrumphed. “Ain’t that always the case.”
“What happened?” Sienna hissed as the cab sped down Main. She unearthed an ice pack from under her shirt and pressed it to Sunny’s temple. “Are you okay? Your head.”
I touched it and my fingers came away tacky with blood. “Digger’s henchman slammed me against the wall. It looks worse than it is. Or it would’ve been worse if Sunny wasn’t there.” I stroked his cheek. “I saved his life, and he saved mine.”
Inexplicably, Sienna smiled. “Yes.”
I didn’t pay attention to where we were going till the cabbie made the turn for the express. The kitschy eateries and yuppy couples disappeared and were replaced by sports cars and skyscrapers. I didn’t care about any of them except one.
“409, 410— There! 411.” It was an apartment building. It had to be Sunny’s home. He’d be safe here.
The car screeched to a stop beside a row of shrubs. Idling by the entrance were two doormen, standing stock-still in solidarity with the Buckingham Palace guards. Sienna got his feet and me his arms. Sidewalk traffic parted for the insane sight in front of their eyes. Gaping at us, the bustle of Cinco halted as we finally neared the end of this horrible event.
“Hey,” I called. “We need help.”
The doormen broke their staring contest with the opposite building. Frowns marred their neutral expressions.
“This is Sunny Bellisario. I think he lives here. We—”
“On the ground! Don’t move!” The guards pulled their guns and shattered the spell. Sidewalk watchers fled in every direction—screaming, pushing, recording. Both men shoved through them, weapons aimed at our heads. “Put him down!”
Sienna dropped Sunny, then herself, falling flat on the pavement.
“No, we didn’t do anything,” I cried. “We’re trying to help him!”
“Release him!” Guard One ripped me from Sunny, kicked the back of my knee, and buckled me to the ground. The world blurred. He shoved my face into the pavement, his weight pinning me down. Sienna cried when Guard Two’s muzzle bit into her forehead.
“Who are you?” they demanded. “What did you do to him?”
“Sienna, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I...” Sunny’s final word came through the panic. “Penguin,” I shouted. “Penguin.”
The guard growled, bearing down harder.
“Bring them inside.”
SUNNY
My next wake-up call, I found myself exactly where I should be. Black textured wallpaper wrapped around the room, breaking up to make room for the eighty-five-inch television, built-in bookshelves, and a wall of windows looking out over my city.
I followed a passing helicopter and landed on the IV beside my bed, next to a series of beeping machines, next to Doctor Hendrix.
“Sunny? Sunny, can you hear me?”
“Receiving you loud and clear, Doctor, and may I say, you’re looking good in those scrubs.”
She gave me a look. “You may not.”
Hendrix popped the stethoscope in her ears and leaned over me. Chanel perfume filled my nose, and wispy red strands tickled my forehead. Thirty-five years old, stylish glasses, and a button nose, I didn’t view a potential relationship between us as inappropriate as Hendrix believed it was. The lady was a single mom packing three hundred grand in student loans. Working as my private doctor, she preferred her checks on time and our interactions professional.
That morning—possibly afternoon—taking my shot to convince her of my sexual prowess didn’t cross my mind. My first thought was—
“Angel, where is she? And her sister?”
Huge, sad eyes filled my vision, blocking out all thought of patient-doctor sex. It was cheap and shallow compared to the wild-haired deity who held me, her calluses comforting on my skin as she stroked my temple and held my hand. Suffering tried to ravage the beauty of Mackenzie Blaine. Dirt stole her luster. Sorrow dulled her eyes. Worry gnawed on her lips. None of it hid the fact her full mouth was plump and dusky, and her windswept locks were a dark crown on my angel’s head.
She saved my life, though she had nothing to give and expected nothing in return. I’ve met all types in my line of work, but I’ve never met an intriguing creature such as Mackenzie Blaine.