Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
CALLUM
“Where the fuck is he?” The asshole's voice carries down the hall and directly into my ears. Fucking Charlie. Only he would come storming into the hospital like the fucking Calvary at a time like this. What a sanctimonious prick.
I'm barely out of Tatum's room, when I find Charlie Cole marching down the hall, his cheeks red, his gaze murderous, looking like he just stepped out of the shower when I called—his dark hair wet and raked away from his forehead. I notice he's wearing sweats and a pair of slides on his otherwise bare feet. Two nurses make the mistake of crossing the hall at the same time and are nearly steamrolled in his attempt to reach me. Of course, the man's too busy glaring at me with rage to notice.
He's my last concern once I catch sight of the taller man walking behind him. His officer badge gleams treacherously back at me from the lanyard hanging around his neck.
Yeah, fuck no.
“Absolutely fucking not,” I warn, holding up both hands before pointing at the stranger. “I will not have cops involved in this.”
Charlie stops short, his scowl deepening, “I didn't have him come to be a cop. He's a friend.”
“Apologies, I came right from work,” the man offers a tight-lipped smile. “Ken Miller.”
“I don't give a shit what your name is,” I snap. “And I don't care if you didn't call him to act as a cop. I don't want the cops involved, on duty or off duty. This could have horrible ramifications for everyone involved.” I'm incredibly close to reaching my breaking point and can't be held liable for the blood that will be spilled if I end up going on a murderous killing spree.
“Where is she?” Charlie demands, as if suddenly realizing why I called again.
“If I knew, I would tell you, wouldn't I?”
“I could have ten cars out there looking for her right now,” Ken offers, clamping a hand on Charlie's shoulder. I have to wonder if these two idiots heard a single word I said.
“No,” I growl, shaking my head. “Going to the police isn't an option.”
Charlie's eyes bulge out of his head, “How can you say you give a shit about my daughter but refuse to get the authorities involved? They could be looking for her instead of standing around like you are right now.”
I take a threatening step forward, barely remembering who he is and what he means to Bianca. All I can think about is how I should kill him for speaking in such a disrespectful manner to me. He doesn't have even the slightest understanding of how deep my love for her goes and that the only reason he's still breathing at this point is because of her love for him.
“He could be right.” Ken holds Charlie back when it looks like he's going to be stupid enough to lunge at me. “It might complicate things if we go to the authorities.”
“This is your fault.” Charlie spits, his eyes are red-rimmed, and fresh tears fill them. “I told her what to expect being with a man like you, but she went ahead anyway, didn't she? She let you destroy her. Being with you puts her in danger, possibly costing her life.”
The thing is, there's nothing I can say to defend myself. He's absolutely right. This is my fault. If Bianca wasn't involved with me, she'd be living a carefree normal life. Living with a boyfriend who works at a nine-to-five job, looking forward to spending time with friends over the weekend. Maybe planning a vacation somewhere or saving up to buy a house. She could have a simple, quiet life free from the danger our involvement keeps putting her in. None of those thoughts really matter though, because, damn it, she's mine and I'm not letting her go.
She belongs to me, with me. I can't accept the idea of us not being together, not even now, when Romero has done nothing since Tatum went down for scans except to call in every favor owed to him by everyone in his extensive network of colleagues.
“Okay, let's take this one step at a time,” Ken suggests. “Start at the beginning. What happened?”
Though my instincts tell me to brush him off, this is not the time when I can afford to alienate anyone who might be able to help. And if he's going to calm Charlie down and keep him thinking rationally, he's someone I need to have on my side. Even as I find myself grinding my molars, I do my best to provide a clear, honest answer to his question. “A text I received—we received,” I amend, jerking my head toward Romero. He's pacing the large room, muttering instructions into his phone. He's every bit his cold self, except there's a little more worry in his features now.