Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
I trail off, realizing a sob is trying to crack my resolve, trying to turn me into the Freya I was not too long ago…before I had to be strong for Julie, supporting her as she always supports me.
“Whatever’s happening,” I go on. “I know bad people sometimes target your family, right?”
He swallows. “Yes.”
“So, do you really expect me to abandon them?”
He pulls the car up at the side of the road, sighing, shaking his head slowly. “No, I don’t. I just…if something happens, you have to do exactly what I say when I say it. Do you understand?”
He stares at me fiercely, his gaze holding me in place. It makes me think of some ancient warrior staring at his woman, pledging himself.
Forever.
There wouldn’t have been time to date and umm and ahh over it. We would’ve had to decide right then if we wanted to be together, just him and me against the darkness of the world.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Okay,” he says. “Then type your address in.”
He nods to the GPS unit. I quickly do as he says, and then he turns the car around, gliding through the city.
“I need answers, Felix,” I say.
“About the kiss or the rest of it?” he asks.
“Fine, let’s talk about the kiss.” My voice gets quieter as though some unknown is trying to turn me into a mouse. I sit up straighter, and fight away the feelings of doubt and nerves. “Why, if what you’re saying is true….”
“It is,” he cuts in. “I won’t lie to you, Freya. I’ll give you the truth, always, even if it makes you hate me.”
That last part almost makes me forget what I was going to say, but I decide to hold onto it.
“Why kiss me?” I whisper, finally caving to the desire to avert my gaze, staring at the dashboard.
“Because you looked – you look – so damn beautiful.”
“So you always just kiss women you think are beautiful?”
“I don’t think you’re beautiful. You are.” He turns the corner, driving away from the clubs and bars and toward residential neighborhoods. “And no. The truth is, I’ve never kissed a stranger.”
“Until now,” I whisper.
He glances at me. “Until now.”
I warn myself not to read too much into this, even if it’s difficult not to.
When he turns back to the road, I force myself to focus on what’s important.
Julie, Mom, the…the what? The hit on me? Is that the right word?
“I need answers, Felix,” I say.
He nods. “As I said, I won’t lie to you. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
I sit back, squeezing my hands together, watching him, waiting, and trying not to lean over and kiss him.
I really need to control myself.
“You need to know something first,” he says. “This is what I meant when I said you might hate me…I’m the one who was hired to kill you.”
“What?” I whisper, sure I’ve misheard him.
The notion that this man would ever hurt me seems absurd…even if that concept – knowing this stranger wants to keep me safe – is absurd in itself.
I don’t know him. I’ve got nothing to base this conviction on.
And yet I feel it so strongly. It almost makes me want to scream, to declare it to the world at large.
“I was hired to kill you,” he repeats.
“I don’t understand.”
He keeps driving steadily, but his jaw is pulsing as if he’s just barely containing all the emotion whelming up inside of him.
“I can explain it all,” he says.
“Honestly?”
He glances at me, his eyes somehow sincere. I try to warn myself away from thinking like this. I can’t know, with everything I have, that trusting this man is a good idea.
I can’t know it, and yet I do.
With everything I have.
“I’ll always be honest with you,” he says.
I sigh, sitting back, almost relieved he told me this after he kissed me. Now I’ll always have that memory, that special kiss before the mayhem started.
“Okay…” I wave a hand. “So you were hired to kill me….”
Just saying the words makes me feel surreal, as though I’ve walked into some kind of fever dream.
“The story began about two years ago,” he says.
He pauses as if waiting to see if I’ll have any questions, then goes on.
“I was in Special Operations for most of my twenties and early thirties.”
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Forty,” he says. “And you?”
“Nineteen.”
Our ages hang there like they’re daring us to comment on them. I know this should be fairly down on my list of concerns with everything else happening.
“Which doesn’t bother me, by the way,” he says, as though reading my thoughts. “I don’t care how young you are if….”
“I don’t care about how old you are,” I cut in, a smile touching my lips.
He smirks as he comes to a stop at a red light, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as though that will make it change quicker.