Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
"Lincoln..."
"It's alright," he assured me, giving my hand a squeeze before dragging me outside, pushing me into the passenger side of my car, then hopping in the driver's seat. "Remind me to thank Gunner," he added as he backed out of his driveway.
"For what?"
"For giving you that fucking cat keychain," he told me, making me realize he'd seen it dangling there, soaked in blood, a macabre little testament to how very brutal things could come in very inconspicuous packages. "Are you hurt?" he asked, reaching down to put the gun into the cupholder, giving my hand another squeeze. "Did they hurt you?"
"He slammed me against my car," I told him, reaching up with my free hand to prod at the injury for the first time, wincing when it smarted to the touch.
"You have a cut there. Don't touch it," he told me. "And you're probably going to have a black eye. You might have broken your eye socket. It's starting to swell already. Did they hurt you anywhere else?"
"I, ah, no. They hit my back quarter panel," I remembered. "My head whipped back. But it feels fine. I'm fine. I'm just..."
"You're freaked out," he finished for me. "It's alright. We are going to handle this now."
"We?"
"Yeah, honey. There is no way I am going to be keeping this shit a secret now. Not when we know there is a threat. And a physical one. I need Quin in on this. And Gunner. Smith is off with Miller, but I am not taking this shit on by myself. You're too important."
All I should have been feeling then was my relief at not being in some random guy's trunk, or maybe the throbbing in my temple, the frustration at this not being the end, but a new sort of beginning.
Yet there was no denying the fluttering in my chest, though, at hearing him call me important. Even if I knew he didn't mean it the way I so badly wanted to take it.
"My sister is going to kill me," I murmured, eyes glued to the rearview, paranoid making me jump at any car that turned onto the road.
"She's not going to be mad at you for accidentally getting involved with someone with bad intentions. That's not your fault."
It was the perfect opportunity to tell him the truth, to ease that burden, to clear the air once and for all.
I didn't do that, though.
"Okay, listen," he said a moment later, parking. "No one has been following us or anything, but we don't want to take any chances. I am going to get out, come to your side, grab you, and we are going to run. You yell if you see the guys or car, okay?"
"Okay," I agreed, taking a steadying breath as he cut the engine and flew out of the car.
With that, it was a bit of an adrenaline-filled blur until we were in the building, up the stairs, and officially behind two locked doors and bullet-proof glass.
The moment the door was closed, Lincoln's hands were framing my face, his thumb carefully probing the soreness in my eye socket and temple.
"Yeah," he said, looking grim. "I think you have a break. You're getting a nice shiner already. How's the pain?"
"Blinking kinda hurts. It's not that bad, though. I have a bit of a headache."
"I know you aren't a fan of taking shit, but we have some Ibuprofen. Don't be a hero if your head is splitting, honey."
"It's not that bad," I assured him, feeling next to nothing but the way his hands were holding me. "Maybe some ice before bed."
"Never a bad idea," he agreed, his thumb stroking down my cheek, making my belly flutter, my sex tighten.
There shouldn't have been anything sexy about that moment, one that only existed because of pain and fear. That said, there was no denying that my body was humming with need for more of his touch.
"Why don't you go get cleaned up?" he suggested, yanking his hand away, seeming to remember that he believed he was not supposed to be touching me. I imagined my face showed the confusion I felt. "Your cut," he explained. "And your hand is covered in blood."
Oh, God.
Right.
His blood.
My attacker's blood.
"Don't pass out on me, Gem," he demanded softly as my arm raised, looking at the blood that was more maroon as it dried. "You did what you had to do," he added. "You never have to feel guilty for protecting yourself. Anyone who wanted to hurt you deserved whatever he got."
"It went through his cheek," I told him, closing my eyes against the memory.
"Good."
"Lincoln..." I said, shaking my head.
"I know you're a 'do no harm' kind of person, babe, but this was what you had to do to get away. Now go wash it away. I will put some water on for you. And call Quin."