Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
My dad’s hand reaches my back in that moment, and I quickly duck into the car, Boston shuffling in beside me, and then the door closes behind us. Sai takes the driver’s seat as a second guard climbs into the passenger seat, and we head out, two cars leading ours, and when I glance back, two more behind.
I look at my father expectantly and he slowly moves to the opposite seat so he can keep watching behind us, his eyes darting around, but dawn hasn’t quite reached us yet, so there’s nothing out there but darkness.
“The Henshaw mansion was attacked, and as of an hour ago, no one has been able to reach Otto Henshaw. His wife was left unharmed, but they lost several guards, and from the trail of blood found, she’s assuming the worst.”
Instantly, my focus falls to my father’s shirt, to the bloodstains that weren’t there last night, and when I look up again, his eyes are on me.
“I don’t understand.” Boston shakes her head. “First Oliver, and now his father?” Her tone isn’t exactly guarded, the accusation clear as she, too, stares at our father in his state of disarray. “The only two people who happen to know whatever secret it is that you’re keeping?”
It takes effort, but I manage to hide my shock. My sister is never one to snap or question our father, but it seems last night’s little conversation, or should I say secret sharing, has changed that.
Of course, my father doesn’t acknowledge what she’s saying. “I thought home would be the safest place for you, but not five minutes after I received the call about Otto, we had a total blackout. Complete loss of communication with our security team. Our home is now at risk of breach, so you’re no longer safe there. I’ve already contacted Calvin and he’s letting the others know we’re on our way back to the manor.”
I don’t allow the sense of ease his words bring me to show. Sure, he has a bunch of security, each of them armed to the nines with unlimited resources at their fingertips, but soldiers are always at risk of being turned now more than ever. Money talks and anyone daring enough to cross my father is sure to have means.
That’s not something I have to worry about in Greyson Manor. On the housing grounds and at the school? Perhaps, but not in the manor. Not with my girls, Dom, Delta’s men and the Grecos, because yes, I’ve come to trust them. Kylo and Kennex have checked in on me so much since I’ve been forced to stay with my father. It’s almost annoying if some lonely part of me didn’t find it sort of sweet.
Bastian flashes before my eyes, never too far from my mind, and I know if he were here, that sense of security would no longer be as simple as a “sense.” It would be factual.
Complete and total confidence.
It doesn’t completely add up as to why, but it doesn’t have to. A deeper part of myself knows it, regardless. That he would protect me at all costs.
Not that he cares to.
I fucked him over and he forgot me.
A knot forms in my stomach, twisting and tightening, but as the gates of the Greyson Estate come into view, it lessens some. They open and the first two cars slip through.
Sai keeps forward to follow, and I breathe a sigh of relief, but then my father’s eyes widen. His attention is pointed toward the vehicles at our rear, but before I can whip around to see what he’s looking at, my own freezes as the giant iron gate flies closed faster than I’ve ever seen it move, cutting off the back bumper of the second SUV with its force. They’re trapped on the inside and us on the outside.
“Fuck!” my father curses, his gun already in his hand as he bends, flipping up the carpet and opening the safe in the floorboard.
I take the moment to look behind us. Steady streams of fire from a flamethrower illuminate the night. Our men scream and shout, blindly shooting as they throw themselves onto the ground and begin to roll around frantically. The entire inside of the SUV is engulfed now, the raging inferno and smoke billowing out open doors.
The moment I spin back, my father’s entire form goes rigid, his eyes snapping to ours.
“This isn’t … possible,” he nearly whispers, denying whatever thought has dug into his mind.
We look at the steel box in the flooring and my heart rate spikes.
It’s empty. It is never empty. It’s checked every day, the guns taken out once a week, temporaries put in their place as the others are shot, cleaned, and then replaced.
It is never fucking empty.
“What the hell?” Boston gasps, pulling a small shuriken, a Japanese throwing star, from somewhere and gripping it between her fingers.