Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 56576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
It doesn’t take long for me to grow restless. I’m used to keeping busy, so I force myself out of bed, moving slowly, so I don’t wake Dove. I have some stuff to check, and I’d rather do it when she’s asleep, that way I don’t risk another fight or more questions I don’t have answers to.
Walking out to the kitchen, I close the bedroom door behind me and head to the coffee pot. I fill the coffee filter and push the brew button, listening to the machine work. A few minutes later, I take my steaming cup of hot coffee and walk to the library.
Setting my cup down, I kneel in front of the cabinet that holds my safe. I open the door and punch in the code, watching as the heavy safe door pops open. I pull out the laptop and phone and sit down in the recliner.
The laptop and phone itself are password protected, then there is another passcode that needs to be entered every time you connect to the internet. Having a connection built into the bunker was a pain in the ass but necessary. I need to know what’s going on outside, after all.
First, I check the video surveillance for Dove’s place, fast-forwarding over the feed. No one has been in there, which means no one has reported her missing yet, nor has Christian sent anyone else to kill her, which is good.
Checking my phone messages next, I find multiple calls and text messages from both Christian and Diego, asking when they can expect the girl. Neither one asks about Billy, so they must not have discovered his body yet, or they just haven’t made the connection.
“Hey.” Dove’s sleepy voice fills the room. I look up to find her standing in the doorway, curiously eyeing the phone in my hand. Her hair is a wild mess, and she looks, well, sexy as hell.
“Good morning.” I tuck the phone and laptop back into the safe.
Dove watches me as I finish locking up. “I didn’t think a phone would work down here.”
“It doesn’t. Not cell service anyway. I do have internet down here; I can make calls through that connection.” I say.
“Would you let me call Donna? Or Sasha? Just to let them know I’m okay.” The pleading tone of her voice makes my chest constrict, but it also gives me a bargaining chip.
“How about this? Let’s have breakfast first. I need to make sure you understand the rules and are willing to follow them. If I think you can, then I’ll let you call Donna later.”
“Really?” she says in a high-pitched voice as if she can’t believe I just made that offer.
“Really.” I watch as hope blossoms in her eyes.
Together, we walk back to the kitchen, where she takes a seat at the table, and I start to prepare breakfast.
“What was your dream about?” I ask, after a moment of silence.
“I don’t remember…” She must be desperate to change the subject because immediately after, she says, “You know I can cook too.”
“I know, but I like taking care of you.” I glance over my shoulder at her just in time to catch the tiniest smile tugging at her lips.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“I’m guessing you know how old I am?”
“Twenty-one,” I say, matter of fact. Of course, I know that and much more.
“Is there anything you don’t know about me?”
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I know more about you than you know about yourself.”
“How is that even possible?” she asks, squirming in her seat.
“I’ve watched you. I see things that you don’t. For example, you feel weak, and you think that you’re scared of everything. In reality, you are brave and downright fearless.”
She makes an adorable snorting sound and shakes her head. “If you think so. What about you. I know nothing about you. Is there anything you can tell me?”
“I grew up in foster care, like you,” I say, just as the eggs and bacon get done cooking. I place everything on two plates and take a seat next to her.
She doesn’t say anything to my foster care remark and just nods her head. She probably enjoys reminiscing about it just as much as I do.
“What else? Like what do you do for work… or did? I mean other than being a criminal? You must’ve had a job at one point, like a real job, right?”
“I’ve only had two jobs my entire life. One is killing people for the local mob—”
Her fork slips out of her hand, making a loud clanking noise as it hits the table. She jumps in her seat, scared by the sound, or maybe by what I just said.
“A-and the o-other?”
“Protecting you,” I say softly. She lowers her head and sighs deeply. I can see the conflict in her eyes, even though they are downcast.