Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 37123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 148(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
One link.
Owen.
He’s the only one I’ve talked to. He’s the one who knew we were at Grey’s. He’s the one who knew the motel, and when I think about him and his “specifically where are you” questions, it starts to sink in like a knife through the neck.
The link is Owen, and that’s some heavy, heavy shit.
“Killian,” Owen growls into the phone, snapping me out of it. I blink, swallowing as I bring the phone back to my ear.
“Hey.”
“So, where the fuck are you guys?”
“Listen, Owen, I really do need to get in touch with Grey about—”
“Just fucking tell me, brother,” he growls sharply. “So I can send help.”
Brother.
Every warning light in my head goes off, and my blood chills.
“Fuck, hang on, man,” I growl, making hissing sounds into the phone. “Shit, I’ve got bad reception. Let me call you right back.”
“Yeah, for sure, brother,” he answers. “You guys both good?”
“Yeah… yeah.”
I hang the phone up, my body cold and my jaw tight. I turn to Nicole, and she instantly sees the look on my face. She frowns, biting her lip before she stands and quickly crosses the room into me. She hugs me tight, looking up at me as she brings a hand to my cheek.
“What just happened?” she whispers hoarsely, looking scared.
I growl, grinding my jaw as I hold her tight.
“The shit just hit the fan,” I grow. “And I think we’re in big, big trouble.”
Chapter Thirteen
Killian
I don’t want to believe it, but it’s impossible to think anything else. It’s written in neon in front of my face, even if I want to close my eyes and ignore it.
The car wasn’t traced, our clothes weren’t bugged. There’s no one tracing our fucking cell phones.
…It’s Owen.
It shatters something inside of me, but there’s no fucking way its anything else. It’s literally the only possible way for the mob guys to have known where we were every single time.
And it’s crushing to realize how true it is.
Owen’s the reason I’m alive today, pretty much. He’s the reason I’m in the Bastards, and most importantly, I trusted him—I trusted him like an actual brother.
My jaw is clenched tight as I stare out at the sun glowing over the water, and I feel Nicole’s hands slide softly around my waist.
“You okay?”
I nod, still glaring out the window.
“Yeah,” I turn, smiling quietly at her. “Fine.”
She arches a sharp brow.
“Nicole—”
“Tell me, Killian.”
I growl, grinding my teeth. “I think…” I shake my head. “No, it’s…”
“What else could it be?”
I frown, looking at her. “What?”
“How we’re being followed,” she says quietly. “The link between both times they showed up.”
I smile. “You put that together yourself, huh?”
“I’m pretty smart.”
“Yeah, you are,” I growl, kissing her softly.
“It’s not the car, not our phones.” She swallows, eying me. “But you’ve called that guy—”
“Owen.”
“Yeah, him. And both times, no one else in the world knew where we are, and right after is when the mob found us.”
I look away, sighing heavily.
“Sorry, it’s not my place—”
“It is, and you’re right,” I growl. “As much as I fucking want you to be wrong.” I shake my head. “But there’s no other explanation.”
She hugs me tighter, and I wrap my arms around her. Fuck, it feels good to have her here. It feels good to have her in my damn life, period. I look past her towards the open-concept, half-built kitchen, and spot the bottle of Jameson on the counter.
Perfect.
I kiss Nicole on the head before I pull away, walking over to grab the bottle and two glasses before I turn back to grin at her.
“Fancy a drink?”
She grins. “Yes, but I’m not sure I’m a whisky girl.”
I nod, glancing around. “Let me see what else I might have…”
“No, pour me one.”
I chuckle, grinning at her. “Power of persuasion, huh?”
“Or maybe I’ve just gotten a taste for Irish recently.”
I grin wolfishly at her as she blushes fiercely at her own innuendo, and we head back to the couch. I pour us a couple of glasses on the little coffee table in front of us, setting the bottle down before I pass her a glass and raise mine.
“Slainte.”
“Cheers,” she purrs back. “To?”
“You.”
She smiles. “Charmer. What about me?”
“For being you, for being here with me.”
“You did steal me,” she grins, wagging her brows.
“And I’d do it again,” I growl quietly.
She licks her lip and slides into my lap, kissing me softly before she pulls back. She brings the glass to her lips and takes a sip of the whiskey before she sighs contentedly, closing her eyes.
“Okay, this I could actually get used to.”
“The whisky or your new seat?”
She giggles. “Both, at the same time.”
She knocks back the rest of her glass and nods.
“More?”
“Yes please.”
I chuckle, feeling my blood throb a little hotter, and my cock beginning to stir under her.
“I like hearing that
“What, yes please?”
“Mhmm.”
“Girls with manners do it for you, huh?” she giggles as I knock back my drink.