Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
"You're still in my way," she mutters, her tone annoyed and irritated.
I look over my shoulder at the mess of tangled sheets, the bed rumpled from the time we spent on it earlier. I picture myself there with her, her face on my chest, breaths evening out as she falls asleep, and for some fucked-up reason, it doesn't freak me out or make me want to run for the mountains behind her house. That, in turn, freaks me out.
I stand when she approaches, but instead of walking up to my chest, she skates around me, climbing onto the bed and leaving me standing there looking down at her.
"What are your plans later?"
She looks up at me, and her face is blank, unreadable. There's no ear-to-ear smile. There isn't even a hint of annoyance. Exhaustion is the only emotion I can read on her pretty face, and I hate the idea of her having to force all emotion away when she looks at me.
"Working," she says as she rolls over. "Turn the lock on the door handle when you leave."
I stare at her back for a minute longer before leaving her room, flipping the lights off and walking out of her house.
The ride back to home base is fucking miserable, and I'm grateful to see Jericho's bike missing from the driveway. Maybe a couple of hours of solitude is exactly what I need to get my shit together, but I sense I'm not alone the second I unlock the front door with my code, pulling the gun I left on my bike while at Zara's from my waistband.
As if he fucking lives there, Ace is sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of whiskey in his fucking hand.
There goes my quiet night alone.
He isn't scared, but he doesn't seem to breathe completely even again until I tuck the firearm back into my waistband.
"Is she going to be a problem?"
Those are the words he chooses to greet me with, so I do what I do best and ignore him as I make my way to the refrigerator and pull a bottle of water from the door. The shelves are mostly empty, the only food inside marked by Jericho's nearly unreadable scrawl, threatening death if touched.
There isn't much I miss about New Mexico, but there was always food prepared or being prepared. It was part of the package deal that came along with membership. The days when I have to leave this fucking house to go find some fast food to eat, I consider being there is better than being here.
"Does ICE have a budget for prepared meals?" I ask rather than getting onto the topic of how he even knows shit about Zara past what I asked him to get for me.
"ICE doesn't foot the bill for shit. ICE's only involvement where this organization is concerned is providing intel and, at times, turning a blind eye when shit goes a little differently than expected."
I nod my head in understanding. Kincaid and Cerberus are responsible for all this. I'm not wearing a leather cut, but, in a way, I'm still part of the organization. I can't decide while being watched like a caged hamster expected to do tricks how I feel about that.
"Zara Hailey," he says.
I turn to face him, my hand clutching the bottle of water so hard it makes a crinkling noise in my palm. His lip twitches as if he's ready to take on all I have to give him, but other than his face, he doesn't move. The man is fierce, and I can't imagine anyone would go through what he has and experience the things he's seen without hardening up some.
"I don't need to be checked up on," I say, trying my best not to do anything he'd see as an overreaction to what for most would be just a normal conversation.
A voice whispers to me that Hound called him, but I doubt the man would get involved in the shit going on over here in Tennessee that way.
"I don't care how you handle the job you're given, but I feel the need to remind you about getting too close to anyone. The rules of this organization—"
"I don't need a reminder of what the rules are," I growl, more heat in my tone than necessary.
He watches my face, his eyes taking in every inch of it.
"Fucking her isn't the same as falling for her," I say, getting better control over myself. "We aren't involved. She's a means to an end. I know for a fucking fact you haven't spent the last thirty years working for ICE as a celibate man. Zara Hailey isn't an issue."
He dips his head as if he believes me, but how can he when I feel like the words are lies?
Getting tangled up with Zara Hailey on anything more than a surface level is the very last thing I want, but that doesn't stop my heart from kicking, my blood pumping a little harder with the physical distance between the two of us right now. Gone is the sense of calm, the serenity I feel when she's near.