Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“I thought we were traveling by motorcycle?”
“It’s in the back of the truck,” I tell her, guiding her toward the passenger’s door, then inside the cabin.
“I can’t believe you traded in Carrie for a pickup truck,” she says as I join her, claiming the driver’s seat.
“Carrie’s waiting at home for her next ride,” I say, softening my voice to an intimate rumble as I add, “or ours,” remembering all too clearly a night we’d made love in that car. It had been a feat, considering it was small and I am big, but a pleasurable feat. From the pink flush on Addie’s pale cheeks, I know she remembers that night as well. “She’s missed you,” I tease.
Her lips part, full and tempting, and the only thing stopping me from kissing her was the need to get her to safety. “Then why isn’t she here?”
“We’re headed toward some hard desert terrain. Carrie doesn’t like it. I can’t exactly windwalk amongst the general population, so believe me, I’d take her speed and agility any day over Frank here.” I pat the truck’s dash.
She gives a delicate snort. Cute. Damn, I love everything about this woman.
“Frank?” She laughs and shakes her head. “You and your nicknames.”
Laughter is good, I think. It keeps her mind off of danger. “I’ve been eyeing a white vintage Mustang. I need another Carrie.” I crack the window, allowing the wind as much access as possible without blowing Addie away, and it whispers a warning.
Addie seems to read me, reacting instantly. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She touches my arm. “Creed?”
“Someone’s here,” I say, reaching across her lap and popping open the glove box, displaying a Browning 9mm pistol and pressing it into her hand. “Hold this on ready, but do it from the floorboard.”
I intend to pull away, but she grabs my arm. “Let’s just leave,” she pleads. “Drive away. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“I’ll be fast, baby. Get down.” And with that, I pull away and exit the truck, already following the wind’s direction.
Abruptly, I turn toward the blue Toyota 4Runner across the way and to the right. Someone’s hiding behind that vehicle. I windwalk behind it and grab the crouching male by the shoulders, his ineffective attempts at escape confirmation he’s human. His buzz-cut screaming military despite his street clothing.
Whoever he is, he’s dead, but I need to know if he’s working for Julian or Lawrence. If the general is suspicious of his own daughter, complications will follow.
I jack the guy up and against the vehicle, holding all two hundred-plus pounds of him dangling above the pavement. “What the flip is your problem?” the man shouts at me, indignant and unruffled, when he has no reason to feel safe right now.
It's illogical.
My fingers dig into his flesh, offering him a glimpse of the amount of pain I could easily inflict. “Who are you working for, soldier, and why are you here?”
“Let me go,” the man grunts. “I’m not working for anyone!”
“Right. You just like crawling around behind cars.”
“I was checking my tires!”
“Don’t fuck with me,” I warn. “Who the hell are you working for?”
“You’re flipping insane, man. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Did whoever send you tell you who I am?” I ask, well aware of my reputation. “Did they tell you how capable I am of killing you without blinking an eye?”
“I told you, man,” the man snaps back. “I was checking my tires.”
The wind gusts with a warning, and I yank the man to the ground, but not soon enough. Blood splatters as a bullet lands between his eyes. I have one thought.
Addie.
Bullets fly left and right, and I drop the soldier, throwing a wind shield around the truck to protect Addie, a buffer that I can’t hold more than sixty seconds. I windwalk to her side of the vehicle, listening for a message in the wind. The shooters are dead. That’s the extent of what I understand.
I disappear and reappear at the driver’s side door and climb inside the truck, checking on Addie, to find her still on the floorboard. “Stay down until I tell you otherwise.” I crank the engine.
“What is happening? Who’s attacking us?”
“Did any gunfire hit the truck?” I ask, trying to figure out who was attacking us and why.
“I don’t think so,” she says, and then with more certainty. “No. Now that you mention it, I don’t think any bullets hit the truck at all.”
I pull us out of the parking spot and cut right. “You can get off the floor now, sweetheart, but stay low in your seat. I think the shooters were after me, not you. That could easily mean this was your father.”
“If that were my father, he wouldn’t risk me being this close. And we need to hope upon hope I’m right, because I won’t get anything else out of him if he knows I’m with you.”