Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 667(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 667(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Relieved and somehow more apprehensive than ever—yes, I’m a mess right now, apparently—I reach for the door. Smith from Walker is immediately there, opening it for me. He offers me his hand but I wave him off with a murmured, “Thank you.”
He’s close, big, tall, and close, with sandy brown hair under a beanie. His fatigue pants and T-shirt are also black. “How very military you look this afternoon.”
“I’ll take that comment as better than looking tired or stupid, but only slightly.”
Considering he’s a quiet, formal guy, this reply surprises me and earns him a smile. “You look manly. How’s that?”
He laughs, another surprise from this man. “Better than girly, unless that’s what you’re shooting for of course, but I assure you I am not.”
Now, I laugh and Grayson appears by my side. “I think I owe you a thank you, Smith,” he says. “You made her laugh. She needs to laugh.”
“I’m sure she does,” Smith replies. “But this will all be over soon.”
Soon, I repeat in my head, stepping free of the car door and allowing Grayson to shut it. Not soon enough, I silently add as another tall man with wavy hair steps to Smith’s side. He’s also wearing all black. Good grief, what do they think is waiting on us in the city? War?
“This is Adrian,” Smith says. “He’s also quite military tonight in all black, and he tells bad jokes, just not as badly as our man Savage. Close, though.”
Grayson and I shake his hand. “How bad are the jokes?” Grayson asks.
“Depends on how bad the situation is,” Adrian replies, and we all laugh. “For now, though,” Adrian adds, “your chopper awaits, which spares you the very bad random tomato joke presently popping around in my head.”
“I think I might need to hear that one,” Grayson replies and then adds, “When we get to the city.”
“Tomato joke on the agenda, sir,” Adrian assures him.
“Grayson,” Grayson tells him. “Call me Grayson.”
Which doesn’t surprise me, and I know considering his exposure to Grayson, it can’t surprise Smith. Grayson is humble. He’s not an egomaniac who believes his money and power make him better than anyone else.
Adrian gives a nod, his eyes warming with surprise. At the same time, Grayson’s hand settles possessively on my lower back, a strong hand. A comforting hand that eases the nerves that seem to be battling some sort of world war in my belly. The four of us enter the small airport, the only guests present, and an attendant greets us, asking us to wait just a few moments before we’ll be invited to the runway to board. “We need to take this time to prep you both,” Smith says, huddling our little group in the center of pale blue cushioned waiting room chairs.
“Prep us for what?” I ask before Grayson can speak, my world war nerves slicing and dicing my insides all over again. What is wrong with me? I’ve been fine all weekend.
“We’ve been informed that the press has turned your street back in the city into a campground this evening,” Smith replies. “Especially your apartment building.”
“Apparently, they anticipated your return,” Adrian replies. “We have men working with security at your building to clear our path.”
Grayson glances down at me, concern etched in his handsome face. “You’re ready for this?”
“I’m ready to have it over with,” I say, my arms instinctively folding in front of me, a protective gesture I can’t seem to avoid. “All of it.”
He studies me with those keen, intelligent eyes before he seems to accept my reply and glances at Smith. “What about the airport? Are they waiting there, too?”
Smith starts talking and I don’t hear a word. I don’t know what happens, but suddenly in my mind’s eye I’m back in the stairwell where Ri attacked me, and I’m running down the stairs, trying to get away from him. My heart begins to race and my palms are clammy. I think I might throw up. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I announce, twisting away from Grayson and I don’t look at him or anyone. I just need to go now.
Hurrying away, I know where I’m going and I dart left and down a hallway, struggling to open the door that should be easily opened. Finally, I’m inside the single-occupancy bathroom, and I grab the counter, forcing myself to suck in air, or trying to. The desire to throw up is muted, but my need to breathe is insistent. I’m hyperventilating, I think. I can’t be sure. I’ve never actually hyperventilated before. My God. Why is this happening? I try to breathe in again and fail.
“Stop,” I order myself and just the act of speaking the word seems to pull air into my lungs. “Stop now.” I inhale harshly and this time, I make it happen: I fully fill my lungs, but I don’t know how I got to this point. I was fine all weekend long. How am I not fine right now? Because I’m not. This is what Grayson feared: me suddenly losing it. I swore I wouldn’t. I almost died but I didn’t. So did he. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I’m back in the stairwell with Ri beside me and Grayson in front of me, willing to take a bullet for me. He could have died. My God, he could have died.