Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
He knew he’d decided to jump when the shaking stopped: His hands were perfectly steady as he composed a text, and he didn’t read it through twice, which was what he usually did when something mattered.
The response was immediate.
Evan put his phone back in his pocket and wiped his eyes.
Then he squeezed his lids shut, held his breath, and ran right out into traffic.
CHAPTER TEN
Nate had no intention of following Nalla out of the club. But as he’d been watching Evan get in through the velvet rope thanks to one of his uncle’s thugs-in-a-three-piece—there she was, doing her own exit into the hoi polloi. Nate hadn’t wanted to notice her, and he’d been banking on her not noticing him because camouflage came in many forms, and he’d made himself good and gone in the human sea.
Not good enough.
Her eyes had found him, and then she’d seemed to be closing in on him. He had no clue what she could want him for, and he didn’t want to know so he’d backed away. And as soon as she gave up the hunt and headed for the exit, he should have let her go. What the hell business was it of his where she went? Alone. After midnight. In a section of town where the men roaming around were almost as dangerous as lessers—
Annnnnnnd that was how he’d found himself out on the sidewalk, playing bodyguard to a female he didn’t give two shits about.
“Goddamn it.”
As she strode away from Bathe, he told himself it was just until she dematerialized to wherever she was going to end up, and he was careful not to track her too closely—so when a woman wearing a postage stamp skirt and a stripe of pink sparkles across her nipples got in his path and refused to back off from him, he pushed the hard offer out of his way because he didn’t want to lose sight.
“You too good for me?” came a shrill demand. “You don’t want this, bitch?”
Fucking fantastic. The last thing he needed was Nalla turning around to check out the commotion—
Some stocky muscleman with a duffle bag slung on his shoulder stepped in and became Nate’s human shield against the offense, picking up the ego slack with some soothing hey-baby’s and probably looking to get a blow job out of his efforts. With that handled, Nate got back on the trail, hoping like hell Nalla ghosted out at the next alley so he could get the fuck on with his life.
Nah. She was in no hurry.
But she was conscientious as fuck. The female was careful to stop and check both ways at each block’s intersection, whether it was an alley or a proper road crossing with a traffic light, and this was true even if there weren’t cars coming or a red light halting traffic in favor of pedestrians.
Man… she moved nice. When she was in motion, her stride was good and long, and she kept her head down, the wind blowing around her ponytail. No perfume. She smelled like fabric softener, natural shampoo, and something that was entirely about her.
He told himself he wasn’t breathing in deeply—
An intermittent vibration in his inner pocket tickled his pec four times and then cut the crap. When it immediately started up again, he knew what it was about: His father was calling about the text that the Brother had sent after Shuli had reported their little carousel ride in the Tesla to the powers that be. The cleanup was already underway, but that wasn’t what Murhder wanted to talk about.
Nate let things go to voicemail a second time.
When a third round of ringing started up, he took his phone out—
Not Murhder. His adoptive mom, Sarah.
He halted, his thumb hovering over the screen. Don’t answer it. Donotanswerit—
“Hello,” he said.
There was a silence, like she was surprised. “Ah, Nate? Hi.”
His eyes shot across the street as someone shouted at somebody else.
It was just a couple of humans yuckin’ it up as they jaywalked across Market. They were probably heading for Bathe. Like everyone in Caldwell tonight.
He refocused. “What’s up.”
“I just… wanted to know if you’re okay.”
He glanced down at his body. He was bleeding under his jacket—just a surface abrasion on his upper arm, but he could feel the wetness. His bad right knee was bitching, but he was used to that. There was bruising across his chest from the airbag, and the top of his head had an impact ache from hitting the Tesla’s roof when they’d rolled.
He was also hungry. For food… and blood.
And a little dizzy. Which could explain what he was doing out here, trailing after that female: Concussions made people stupid.
Stupid-er.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Your father’s looking for you.”
I’ll bet, he thought.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Nothing,” Nate muttered. “It was nothing. Listen, I gotta go. I’m in the field.”