Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
I narrowed my eyes, not sure where this was going.
“You helped me when you didn’t want to, when it put you at risk. I know what it’s like to do shit you don’t want to do, but you do it anyway because it’s the right thing.” The Defender tilted his head and looked at me so, so seriously. “People think doing the right thing is easy, but it’s not. The right thing is hardly ever convenient.” His eyelids dropped low over those eyeballs, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, and I didn’t think I was imagining him having to dig deep within himself to say, “Other things irritated me, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for that.”
I started to say well too bad when his hand landed on my nearly bare shoulder.
“For the rest of your life, Gracie. That was my deal.” He stared me right in the eye. “I’m sticking to it.”
I pressed my lips together.
“You’re fine.” He shook his head. “You’re a good person, and I didn’t want to like you, but I do.”
The man known as The Defender moved his thumb across my shoulder as he looked at me, that grouchy face turning open and sincere. I’d watched it too much to not notice the tiny differences in his features when his emotions changed. And I could tell that they had.
Then he reached toward the dresser and picked up a big orange bag from the top that I hadn’t noticed.
Cheetos. He was holding fucking Cheetos.
I looked at him, and the son of a bitch shook the bag a little as he held it out.
Dammit, I had to be logical.
“There’s another bag downstairs,” he said, watching me so, so carefully.
I could be practical.
“You said you promised your grandparents that you’d live a nice, long life.” He drew every word out. “Your best bet at that is sticking with me, and you know it.”
Suddenly, I felt in over my head.
My stomach twisted in that funny way right before something monumental happened.
Fuck.
It twisted again, reminding me that it was always right.
Those thick, dark eyebrows rose slowly, and the son of a bitch shook the bag of Cheetos at me some more. “What’s better than regular friends?” he asked. “You can be my best friend number 20. If you share the Cheetos with me, I’ll think about you being number 19.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Was I really going to change my mind? Had he won me over with an apology, an earnest face, a bag of chips, and by reminding me of what my grandparents had wished for? By calling me his best friend number 20? Really?
Did he have to be so logical? If he’d picked any number smaller, I would have thought he was full of shit. But twenty… twenty was believable.
Twenty was real.
Dammit.
He shook the bag a little more. “What do you say, Cookie?”
Fuck this motherfucker.
Fuck me.
Oh boy.
“Fine,” I snapped as a compromise, noticing that my stomach instantly went back to normal. I took the bag of chips from him.
Alex tipped his head to the side.
I pressed my lips together. “I want to tell you no. You were a real buttmunch.”
His eyebrows dropped flat, but I kept going.
“I’ll stay until we figure out a way that I can be okay by myself.”
His gaze stayed steady.
“But if you ever make me feel that way again, I’m out. And you can live with your guilt if the cartel gets me and feeds me to their pigs.”
He didn’t like that, I could tell by the way his eyes suddenly glowed for a split second, but he kept his mouth closed. “No one is going to kill you except maybe me.”
I didn’t mean to snort, but it still surprised me when he went dark on me. “Somehow that’s strangely comforting.”
“I’ve been known to be comforting.”
“Probably when you’re telling someone their death will be quick and painless.” I almost laughed, but I was still overwhelmed and hurt and tired and a little scared, to be honest. The future had that effect on you. At least it did on me. Regardless of what he said too, this all still felt like unsteady ground.
What if he changed his mind again? What if someone pissed him off and we had another argument?
His mouth twitched, but his eyes were serious. “Somebody made me mad, and it had nothing to do with you.”
“Who made you mad?” I asked him, going for it.
His eyes flicked up toward the ceiling briefly. “My family. My elders.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it.
He’d said we had ancestors. That some of the Atraxian bloodlines had died off. How long had they been here? There was so much I didn’t know… not that it really mattered, but it would be neat to know about where some of my family had come from, since I didn’t know much in the first place.