Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Once he cut the engine, he left his phone in the glovebox—just in case the powers that be were eavesdropping—and hopped out, settling his cowboy hat on his head and pulling the brim low. He stared at a row of faded blue doors with overgrowing vegetation sprouting from crumbling brick planters. There were ten in front of him in a neat row, beginning with number one. Which room was Ethan and Madison holed up in? The only part of the riddle left centered around Drew Brees.
But Matt didn’t understand. How could being a football player’s fan help him pinpoint the right door? Brees had won Super Bowl XLIV, but this motel didn’t have a room forty-four. He tried to think beyond the obvious… There were lots of stats in sports, too many to name. What number could he associate with Drew Brees?
Then Matt got it, the number most associated with any player in any sport. And though he loved football, he wasn’t much of a Saints fan. Still, he fucking knew the number on the famous quarterback’s jersey.
Nine.
His heart thudded against his ribs so hard it fucking hurt as he jogged to the door and knocked.
It took a nerve-wracking minute, but Ethan cracked the door, gun in hand. “There you are. That didn’t take long. I guess you’re not just a stupid cowboy, after all.”
When the bastard flipped the brim of his hat with the barrel of his gun, Matt stepped back and grabbed his wrist in a vicious grip. “Where. Is. She?”
Ethan raised a cocky dark brow. “So impatient.”
“Stop fucking around, or I swear to god—”
“You’ll what?” Ethan turned on a dime, all hint of grinning mockery replaced by a snarl. “You’re an asshole. I think the appropriate term is ‘you’re welcome.’”
Then he whirled away, trying to slam the door in his face. Matt busted into the shadowy room before it banged shut and found Ethan on the far side of the room—with his arm around a pale and disoriented Madison as if he had every right to hold her. The guy’s acidic grin was back, like he was itching for a fight. Didn’t he see that she was fucking exhausted?
Matt’s entire body shook as he tried to hold on to his temper—and his mind. But it wasn’t happening. “Okay. You’re welcome, you asshole. Now get your fucking hands off her, or I will kill you.”
“Matt,” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”
After she’d been in the wind for hours, she thought he wouldn’t come? Yeah, she had reasons to believe that. But he’d deal with that later.
Ethan turned to Madison. “Oh, he sounds awfully possessive, sweet pea. What do you think that means?”
“You have three seconds,” Matt warned.
“I have a gun,” Ethan reminded him.
What game was this fucker playing? He wouldn’t shoot. So why was he poking the bigger bear? What response was he after? “I’ve got ten years of experience and thirty pounds of muscle on you. You really wanna go, or are you going to let me take care of her?”
“I’m fine, I swear,” Madison insisted.
Maybe, but Ethan was still touching her.
“You think I haven’t been taking care of her?” his teammate challenged.
Matt knew exactly how Ethan took care of the ladies. His brain flashed him pictures of the punk kissing her, stripping her, settling his head—then his cock—between her legs until she screamed. A glance at the rumpled bed with the old polyester spread half on the stained industrial carpet sent Matt’s imagination reeling and had him losing grip on his restraint.
“Stop it, both of you.” Madison wriggled free and approached him on soft footfalls, her eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. “Why are you angry? He made me feel safe, got me food and water, then watched over me while I napped.”
“Damn it, sweet pea. You’re making me sound like a saint.”
Matt snorted. “Fat chance. Get the fuck out. I need to talk to her.”
He also needed to swallow this unexpected hot tear of jealousy and deal with the danger at hand, but he couldn’t seem to let go of the primal, urgent need to put his hands and mouth all over her and assure himself in the most basic way that she was unharmed.
“No. I called the bosses as you pulled up. They’re on their way, should be here in fifteen. Hunter said we should both guard her until they—”
Matt lunged at Ethan. “Out!”
“Where the fuck am I supposed to go?”
In the tiny corner of his brain not fixated on getting Madison, he realized he was being a complete bastard. In the moment, he couldn’t find a single part of him that cared. “Go to your car. If you’re bored, take your dick in your hand.”
Then he grabbed Ethan by the neck, threw him out the door, and slammed it, throwing the deadbolt in place.
Finally, he turned to Madison, his heart ratcheting up.