Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
For a long second, I just stare at the folded note in Victor’s thick, dirty fingers. What if I don’t read it? What happens then? If someone threatens you but you don’t read the threat, did it happen at all?
But the not knowing would be worse than the knowing. I know that for sure.
I slowly take the note from his fingers and keep it safe and hidden in my palm. “He won’t bother you anymore either. I promise.”
As fast as I can move now, I book it back down the steps and outside.
Edward is still in the Humvee with the engine running. It must be clear enough that I’m panicked because as soon as he sees me, he leans across and pops open the passenger’s side door.
“Switch plates my ass,” Edward says, and guns it out of the parking lot.
I don’t answer. I don’t say a word. A tiny, fleeting whisper of relief comes over me as we swing out of the parking lot and the locks click automatically.
Pushing my hands against my belly, I try to keep the knots inside from tightening, trying desperately to stop myself from puking my yogurt all over everything.
I count to ten, breathing in. Hold for ten, and then breathe out for ten. It helps…but only barely. Because the little note in my palm feels about as dangerous as a scorpion.
When Edward depresses the accelerator to get on the highway, checking over his left shoulder for traffic, I take my chance and unfold the note.
The paper shakes as I turn it over. And then I read the words. Once. Twice. Three times.
This isn’t over. I’m having fun now.
I suck in a panicked breath and the world spins around me. Spins and spins until I’m nearly sick with it.
I shove the paper into my purse and look outside, at the boarded-up, burned-out houses below the highway bridges as they whiz past.
“You good?”
My heart is in my throat and my pulse is racing. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
“I gotta tell you, Kat. You need to tell Trent we came down here. I don’t feel right lying to him. I’m sure you don’t either.”
I bite my lip hard, trying to calm my nerves, and press my hand on my belly again to untie the knot that seems to be always pulling itself tighter.
“Yes, for sure. I’ll tell him,” I manage to say. But I have no intention of doing that. None at all.
CHAPTER 17
Trent
As soon as I hear her walk in the door, I can fucking tell something’s not right. “Kitty Kat. You good?”
I hear her drop her purse and kick off her sandals. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Just out. Needed some things. Girl things.”
Bullshit. I cross my arms and wait for her to walk into the kitchen. She walks in with her eyes down, looking pissy. But otherwise impossible for me to read.
I figure I’ve got two options here. Push her for details, or let her come to me. Fuck knows I pushed her enough in the last twenty-four hours; maybe she’s just fucking exhausted. After all, I did give her the ride of her fucking life last night.
“My buddy, Luke, he’s coming over for dinner.”
She shoots a glance at me, and whatever that is in her eyes, it’s not great. “Oh, I see. And what, you’re planning on having me cook?”
What the fuck is this sassy bullshit. I narrow my eyes at her but she’s already turned away. “Did I say that?”
She flings open the giant refrigerator and starts rummaging. “You didn’t have to. You said he’s coming to dinner. So, what are you going to feed him? MREs? Going to go outside and make a fire and eat brown slop together like you’re deployed again? You miss it that much?”
Hang on a fucking minute. “What’s the matter with you?”
I study the tension in her shoulders, the set of her teeth. I know her quirks like no other. When it comes to her, I’ve got a sixth sense. And this has fuck all to do with making dinner or the possibility of me deploying again in some hypothetical future.
I put my hand on the small of her back, grab the waist of her dress, and pull her away from the fridge. I turn her around in my arms, but her eyes are locked down. “Look at me, baby girl.” Her nostrils flare—annoyed, angry. “You can fight me all you want but you know you’re going to tell me.”
She purses her lips and I know she’s just getting more pissed. The way I can read her has annoyed her since we were little. I know that sometimes she just wants to be mad, to hold on to the fire. But I’ve always tried to put out the blaze before it got too big for her to handle.
I tip her chin up so she’s look at me finally. “Say it.”