Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“You sure?” Akara asks me, phone frozen in his hand. He holds the power to alert the rest of the Tri-Force. To turn my choice into a reality.
I listen to my gut that says push forward. “I’m sure.”
Akara hesitates, looking like he wants to change my mind, but after a pause and a once-over, he sees that I’m set. And he starts texting. “You’ll need to stay on Maximoff’s detail for one more week while we sort out a transfer.” He looks up. “Sound good?”
“Perfect.” I already knew the protocol. “I’ve packed most of my shit. I’ll be out of security’s townhouse before then.” It’ll be more official than it has been, but I’ll be living with Maximoff. And I’ve never “officially” lived with any of my past boyfriends before, so this is just as new for me.
Thatcher should be ecstatic that I’m no longer living one floor apart from him. I’m not expecting the guy to jump for joy. But a mocking clap seems in the realm of possibility.
But as our eyes lock, he appears the farthest thing from happy.
And I’m certain.
He’s going to make this difficult for me. Messy and fucking loud. “Thatcher—”
“You’ve had one foot in, one foot out from the start. I told you that months ago.” He tears off his latex gloves. “And I’ve known you’re committed only to yourself, but I didn’t realize how fucking selfish you are until right now.” His biting tone is dying to gnaw me apart.
I run my tongue over my molars. Seething inside out. At first, I want to just let him believe what he believes. My actions haven’t been able to convince him anything different. Not the marathon run in the dark Poconos mountains. Not every push-up, every sit-up, every time I listened when I would’ve rather disobeyed.
If he wants words, not actions, then I have those too.
“Wherever I am, I’m all there,” I say strongly. “I’ve always been committed to security, and the fucking millisecond that I felt drawn somewhere else, I chose to leave.” That’s the truth.
But Thatcher glares.
I glare, stepping further off the wall.
And he says, “That’s how you plan to spin this?”
My nose flares, hot-blooded anger craving to twist my face. There is nothing more I can give him than what I feel. He’s still choosing not to believe me. “I’m not warping shit,” I tell him. “If you don’t see it the way I see it, then fine. Leave it alone.”
Akara, Quinn, Oscar, and Donnelly all stand rigid. Watching. Tensed. But not surprised that we’re butting heads again.
Thatcher steps over a pile of mailers. Rolling the sleeves of his plaid flannel. Like he’s boiling as hot as me. He nears me and says, “Did you even consider Maximoff when you decided to quit on him?”
I glare unblinkingly.
He’s dead serious.
He truly believes that I don’t give a flying shit about Maximoff. I almost let out a pained laugh. Fuck, I’d do anything for him.
I’d even choose security for Maximoff, but here’s the thing: Maximoff would resent me. Every day, every minute, he’d hate me. We are so alike in that we want to give each other what we need. And he wouldn’t, for a second, let me stay in security out of chivalry.
“Wow,” I say flatly. “Did I even consider my boyfriend when I made a life-altering choice that would directly affect him?”
Of course I did. Of course I’ve struggled. Of course I’ve beat myself up at the terrible timing. But I’m the one who wakes up to those forest-greens that scream don’t coddle me, just love me.
Just love me.
Not this fucker.
“Your client, your boyfriend, just broke his collarbone,” Thatcher spits out, pointing at my chest. “He just had surgery and lost his job, and you chose this moment to quit on him—”
“Say that shit again and we’re going to have bigger problems,” I sneer.
“When one of us quits, we have to hire someone new,” he growls, unable to stop spewing more. “And these families have to learn to trust a stranger to protect them all over again.” His glare grows hotter in a single pause. “Your client, the guy you left behind, will get someone new in his life. You should be worried about that after what’s happened between you two.”
I hear what he’s insinuating. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I know Maximoff is impressionable.” He cups a hand around his fist. Like he knows what he’s about to say will set me the fuck off. “If he fell for someone like you, he’d have no problem falling for his new bodyguard—”
I explode forward to hit him; I’m going to fucking slam my fist in his fucking face—and then Oscar wrenches me back, my feet smashing boxes. And he means well by restraining me.
But the other guys don’t catch Thatcher in enough time. I jerk in Oscar’s grip as a reflex, seeing the pair of knuckles, and my friend lets go too late—Thatcher’s fist slams into my cheek.