Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 110273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“There’s no way they can prove anything,” he said, almost in a daze.
Right.
Well.
We couldn’t go on the run.
“Let’s go.”
“What?”
“Let’s go. Let’s see what they have to say.”
“They’re looking for Kash.”
“I know. You told me. Like, four times.”
“He’s not here.” It came out as a statement, but Matt was more making sure that he was correct.
I nodded. “Yes. He left.”
But where had he gone? He could’ve just gone to the office he used here, but this was Kash. He would’ve known the feds would come here. He would’ve had a plan.
“Let’s just go and see. I mean, we can’t do anything else.”
“Right.”
Matt agreed with me, but he didn’t move.
Neither did I.
We had to go, though.
I had a feeling. Dread. Something bad was about to happen; something worse.
We walked down to the sight of my father in handcuffs.
Agent Bright had him turned toward the door, his hands behind his back and her hand on his back. “Peter Francis, you are being arrested for cyberterrorism.”
FIFTY-FOUR
Kash
“You have to appreciate the irony, right?”
My brother was annoying me. He’d been annoying me since I slipped away from the Chesapeake, jumped in our car, and the four of us took off. Me. My brother. Josh. Scott. No one else was with us. Fitz was ordered not to leave Bailey’s side, along with four other men. We took Scott’s personal car.
We were now walking into a cabin an hour outside of Chicago. It was remote, off the grid, and had been purchased with cash, through a third party, so there was no trail leading back to me unless people got creative with their searching.
I ducked inside, dropping one of the backpacks in the corner, and shot him a look. “Shut up.”
He smirked, snickering, and came in behind me with another backpack on his shoulder.
He started to scan the interior, but a fire was blazing in me and had been the whole time.
“Wait. No.”
My brother stiffened, hearing my tone, and turned. I saw a wariness flicker in his eyes—and good. I liked that. I liked that a lot.
“Chase, right?” I bit out, that flame in me just building and building.
His eyebrows dipped low. Oh yeah. More wariness flashed and he eased back a step. He lowered his own bag, but moved slow and cautious.
“Yeah. Chase.”
I snorted. “Right. Chase. It’s nice to meet my fucking twin brother who’s already been a pain in my ass. And please, tell me. Enlighten me on the irony of this situation?”
He opened his mouth.
I clipped my head in a shake. “I don’t give a shit what you have to say, because trust me, I am fully comprehending that I had to choose you, break you out, hoping you’ll have some fucking answers for me, and all the while, the rational side of me is saying this is one huge fucking trap. Calhoun sprung this whole thing, me going on the run, me having to choose someone over the people I love, and any second he’s going to send in an attack squad for his first wave.” That’s when I dropped what little mask I was still holding on to. I reached behind me, grabbed my gun, and brought it up.
Movement ceased in the cabin.
Josh and Scott had been bringing in the rest of our gear, but both paused.
Chase, my brother, went still. His eyes went to the gun, to me, and he let out a sigh. He raised his hands up. “Okay.” He was speaking cautiously now, too. “I heard it in the car. I know that the FBI went in and arrested—”
I cocked the gun. “I know what they did.”
He kept on as if I hadn’t interrupted him. “They arrested Peter—”
“Again,” I growled, moving forward two steps, raising the gun higher, “I know this, you little fuck.”
He paused, frowning slightly. “How’d you know that would happen? They threatened your woman.”
“It was Peter’s office, Peter’s equipment, Peter’s computer. It was all Peter’s. And I wiped the room clean. The only person who’s been in there since has been Peter. They can only arrest Peter.”
Yeah. I was a dick.
I chose this moron over someone who was like a father to me.
Self-disgust flared high in me.
“You better start talking to make this all worth it, because if you don’t, I will shoot you in the head right now. I’m starting not to give a fuck about whatever you have to say,” I gritted out.
His eyes widened.
He hadn’t expected this from me, and that gave me satisfaction that I couldn’t even fathom trying to measure.
I cocked my head to the side. “What? Did you underestimate me?”
His eyes flashed.
He had.
This arrogant piece of shit—breaking into my home, giving me the slip, being a ghost, then appearing to try and take Bailey out from under me?
I was seeing red.
I snarled, my top lip curling up. “You think I don’t know your play? You’ve been on offense this whole fucking time. You think I don’t know the power in that? ’Cause you got the control. You know where I am. You know where my anchors are, because I’m always going to come back for them, for the people I love. Who do you love? Who’s your anchor? Tell me who your fucking weakness is and I’ll ghost, then try to take them out from under your watch. Let me slip away and do some fucking offensive play. You be on the defense. You tell me how that feels!” My voice was rising. “Now this last stunt? Where I’m jumping through fucking hoops to get you out? Start goddamn talking, motherfucker, or I’m going to blow a hole in your brain, then go find Grandpops and do the same to him. I’m at my end, so start. Fucking. Talking!”