Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
I will say though that he wasn’t wrong.
About the fact that this was my fault.
It is my fault.
That I’m sitting here, tied to a chair, in a strange motel room, waiting for my kidnapper to get back.
Not only that, if my kidnapper has already made the call, then right this second the man I’m in love with must be worried.
He must be worried sick.
And God, he has a meeting.
He has a very important meeting, but of course if he knows that I’m in danger, he won’t be able to focus. He won’t be able to give all of his attention to it and I know, I just know, that he’ll beat himself up for it.
He’ll be tense and frustrated and basically turn into Alaric 2.0.
And he doesn’t need that, okay?
He does not need to be even more frustrated and angry than he already is. Definitely not because of me. Definitely not when I’m not there to calm him down, to take the edge off. Not that I’m always successful, but still.
God.
I need a plan. I need a fucking plan right now but my mind is too muddled to think of anything. Plus these ties are tight. They are super fucking tight and I’ve tried everything that I can for the past two hours — yes, Jimmy’s been gone for two hours; I’m hoping he’s passed out somewhere and never made that call — to loosen the bonds.
Just when I think to give it another try, the door bursts open.
And there he is.
All red-eyed and sniffling and shifty.
But triumphant.
Which causes my heart to sink.
He closes the door behind him with an unhinged and drugged grin. “Done. It’s done, Poe. He’s gonna give me the money. In about,” he frowns, “two hours. He’s gonna make the drop where I told him to and Big Jack will finally be off my back.”
My chest tightens and heaves. “You called him?”
“Yup.” He walks further into the room. “Twice.”
“What?”
He shrugs. “The first call was just to scare him. You know, get him all upset and angry. The guy fucking punched me, Poe. He deserved a little bit of a scare.”
Oh God, Alaric.
I swallow. “And the second call?”
He nods, putting his hands on his hips. “An hour later. Yeah, the second call was important. To tell him where to make the drop and not to call the police and all that crap. We had a long chat the second time around. I told him that I liked you. I did, Poe. I fucking liked you. I wasn’t lying about wanting to try. Did I also want your money? Of course I did. But does that mean that I didn’t like you or that I didn’t wanna have a relationship with you? No. Why can’t I have both? Why can’t I have you and your money, Poe? Why is that —”
His words get cut off — brutally — when the door bursts open again and I freeze.
I stop breathing, stop thinking, stop feeling the pain in my wrists and my shoulders.
Because he’s here.
The man I’ve been so worried about, who Jimmy tried to scare over the phone.
He stands at the threshold, wearing his tweed jacket and his dark tie, and such an angry expression on his beautiful face that I know Jimmy’s in trouble.
I know that.
But I don’t want him to be.
I don’t want Jimmy to be in trouble, not because I have any soft spot for him but because I don’t want my Alaric, the love of my life, to waste even a single second on him.
I don’t want my Alaric to waste even a second thinking that he needs to exact revenge on Jimmy on my behalf or something similar because I know how he is, how angry he gets, how protective he is.
And it’s as if Alaric knows.
He knows what I’m thinking, sitting here, watching him with wide eyes, because he swivels his gaze over to me.
His familiar chocolate chip eyes — right now hardened and even darker — find me and an emotion passes over him.
Over his entire body.
Causing him to shift on his feet and shudder.
Causing him to move.
And stride over to me.
I think it was relief. A big, gigantic wave of relief.
Because I’m feeling it too. As I watch him come closer.
In my peripheral vision, I notice that he’s not alone. He might have burst the door open but there are other people here. Other people with guns and blue uniforms and loud voices and thumping footsteps.
But I’m not worried about them.
I don’t care who they are, because the man I’m in love with has finally made it to me and he’s kneeling down on the floor, his eyes wide and frantic, his jaw clenched. And then he touches me.
He puts his hand — and God it’s shaking — on my cheek and I can finally breathe.