Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
We all nod together.
“And I don’t give a fuck who…but someone is making my ass coffee the minute we get upstairs.”
“That’ll be The Kid,” Nolan announces with a crooked grin. “Makes a mean brew and sucks an even meaner dick.”
There’s no stopping my mouth from dropping.
“Close that shit,” my boyfriend playfully scolds. “You don’t have to prove it.”
The croak noise that escapes gets Bunny giggling again, a sound I know we both feared we wouldn’t hear so freely again.
“The Kid it is,” Garcia agrees while motioning his head over to his nearby Audi. “For the coffee.” He shoots Nolan a good-natured wink. “I’ll continue to look elsewhere for the latter.”
More laughter leaves the group prompting me to join them.
Take an overdue breath.
With the way everything keeps going, I’m not so sure when I’ll get the chance to take another.
For now, though?
I’m simply grateful for this one.
Our girl.
Our boyfriend.
And the lengths we’re all prepared to go to in order to protect this family from whatever or whoever lies on the road ahead.
Chapter 22
Bunny
Sweeping our entire place for bugs was the easy part.
Explaining ourselves and situations, on the other hand…
Not so much.
Kipp adjusts the arm he has wrapped around my shoulder to give me more room for my frantic scribblings that I know are making him uneasy.
After all, it’s the only logical feeling about having the words “I Ran” inked in his skin over and over again by the woman who literally tried to run away while he was sleeping.
I told him it was in reference to the song.
Which was the last song that Victor Garcia, the attorney our boyfriend contacted, played while we checked around for listening devices.
That seemed to do the opposite of help.
Probably because The Kid is jealous and only becoming more so with each passing minute Garcia sticks around.
I think it’s kind of cute.
And a little entertaining.
Garcia laughs louder with Mutt at the kitchen table on the other side of the room causing The Kid to quietly mumble under his breath, “He’s not that fucking funny.”
“You just don’t get the joke.”
“Do you?!” he snaps in a hushed tone.
“No…” digging harder into the letter R due to the pen beginning to run out of ink occurs between statements. “But it’s clearly an inside joke, so I wouldn’t.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?!”
“Nope.”
Nolan laughs a little louder once more prompting Kipp to grumble, “Does that?”
“Nope.”
“So, just me?”
“Yup.”
Another displeased grunt is accompanied by him protectively tugging me to him.
Again…this is cute.
This is nothing more than a little insecurity bubbling to the surface because you love the person that you’re with so, so much and some part of you doesn’t feel good enough for them; therefore, you worry they think that exact same thing and will someday find someone who is “better” for them than you.
It’s sweet.
And from what I understand about “healthy” relationships I’m witnessing normal.
And from a place of love versus possession.
Which is where Brad’s jealousy stemmed from.
Correction.
Stems. From.
He’s definitely that type of demon who feels like if he can’t have me…no one else can.
And that’s what has me on edge the most.
I know what he’s planning to do to me.
The game is always the same.
He’ll let me know I’ve been found. That’s always step one. Next, he’ll let me stew in that panic. Contract inward as I worry that every single person, I’ve crossed paths with in the last twenty-four hours works for him or owes something to him until I start spiraling. Shut myself inside. Cut myself off from the outside world. Flinch at every little noise I hear. He’ll then move onto the icing out period – designed to create a false sense of security. Make me feel like maybe he’s really gone this time. Done with me. That everything I thought I believed about him having found me was just my mind playing tricks on me. This is when he expects my guard to come down, and the second it does, he reveals himself again. What he knows. What he wants. That no matter how much distance or space there may be physically between us that I’m. Still. His.
Those very words were once painted on my bedroom window…inside my apartment.
Security alarms?
Didn’t work.
Witnesses?
Non-existent.
The camera footage from that night?
Erased.
My hard wood floors?
Spotless.
Area near the incident?
Cleaned.
The cops did nothing, supposedly because there was no evidence to do anything.
And then they turned it around on me.
How could I sleep through something like that?
How could I not hear it?
Wake up?
They blamed me even when I tried suggesting that perhaps I had been drugged without my knowledge – he’d done it numerous times before – and told me I probably dreamt the whole thing after watching some “murder porn” documentary.
Here’s the thing…I have dozens of stories like that, that if my partners knew…if they were really let in on what Brad is capable of…they might understand why I’ve always believed running to be the best form I can file and why I think we’re just basically waiting to be mentally audited any day now.