 by Christine Feehan.jpg)
Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Laurel "Rory" Chappel has always been a nomad. She's accustomed to taking care of herself, despite the physical challenges she lives with. She thinks she's too weak to find real love, but that doesn't stop her interest in Gideon from turning into a full-on addiction. He's all rough edges and danger contrasted with a tenderness that makes her feel safe. Still, after a life spent in motion, she's not sure she knows how to stay in one place.
Gideon hopes he can persuade Rory to take a chance on him with every electric touch. But soon, life conspires against him, forcing the GhostWalker to risk everything to protect the woman he loves.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Sometimes things just go south, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.” Gideon “Eagle” Carpenter eased his body back slowly until he was entirely supine, linked his fingers behind his head and stared up at the stars.
This was San Francisco. Viewing stars wasn’t always easy because fog liked to creep in at night, at least where he was located. He was on the roof of the four-story, wedge-shaped original warehouse made of red bricks that rose like a monstrosity to stand out among all the cool newer concrete and steel warehouses surrounding it. Considering that the building was the only one on the street to survive the 1906 earthquake and fires and was still standing, despite the city condemning it and threatening to demolish it several times, Gideon thought that what others considered an eyesore was worth saving. So he’d saved it. Mostly for this—the rooftop. He’d used every penny of his share of the money and then some to see to it that the best of the best ensured the old building would withstand anything thrown at it for the next hundred years.
“Yeah, Gideon,” he repeated aloud. “Shit happens. You roll with it. You don’t let it get to you. You come here, high in the sky, and you get rid of it.”
Because shit did happen in his life far too often. It had been happening since the day he was born, and he was damn sure it would continue to do so until the day he died. He’d created the mantra, found the highest place possible wherever he was, repeated that shit over and over until he made himself let the clouds take it all away. They had to take it away. Sometimes, like tonight, when his churning gut was in knots and the devil was riding him hard, he had to call on the universe to shoulder his shit.
A whisper of movement had him dropping his hands slowly to his sides, the fingers on one hand wrapping around the butt of one of his favorite weapons. He could shoot the wings off a fly in the dead of night if he had to. His other hand settled around the hilt of his knife. Up close and personal wasn’t necessarily his first choice, but he had skills, and when push came to shove, he could use them. Few knew the code to open the hidden stairs to the rooftop, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He was a careful man. That had been ingrained in him, long before he’d taken to living on the streets and a ragtag family of sorts had been formed by several throwaway kids—of which he’d been one.
He waited in silence, air moving evenly through his lungs. The trapdoor opened carefully. No one emerged.
“Gideon? You going to take my head off?”
The voice was soft, with the merest hint of an accent even those with great hearing couldn’t detect. Javier Enderman. One of his brothers from the street. Family. One of his brothers from the service. One he’d live and die for. Gideon hadn’t expected him, but he should have.
“I’m considering it. I’d have to get up to do it, and I’m not liking the idea of moving, so I think you’re safe enough.”
Javier pushed the trapdoor open all the way and climbed onto the roof. He was all muscle, but with his lithe build, it was impossible to tell. He looked young; impossible to guess his age. In their business, it was a decided advantage. Thick black hair fell onto his forehead, spilled over his ears and curled around the back of his neck. He had black, black eyes that appeared to look right through a man to uncover every secret. Once he stepped into a shadow, it was nearly impossible to find him if he didn’t want to be found. Gideon considered him the most dangerous member of their team.
Javier barely made a whisper of sound as he crossed the roof to take a seat a few feet from Gideon. He added energy drinks to the cooler and three Ziploc bags of what appeared to be fresh spinach chips to the lock box that was never locked beside Gideon.
Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Where the hell did you get those?” There was reverence in his voice—awe, even—because fresh spinach chips, the real deal out of the oven, deserved awe.
“Swiped them. Stole them. Lifted them. It was a sweet little heist too. Right out from under Rose’s nose. In her kitchen. Know how much you love them, and I’ve got to keep my skills sharp, so we both win.”
“Rose will cut you into little pieces if she catches you stealing her spinach chips. They take forever to make,” Gideon said.
Javier shrugged. “You want me to take them back, I’ll do it.”
“Hell no.” Gideon burst out laughing. “She’s not going to kill me; she’ll go after you. And then there’s Kane. You lift a finger to defend yourself when his cute little lethal wife, Rose, is cutting off your balls, Kane will beat you to a bloody pulp.”