Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 202770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1014(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 676(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 202770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1014(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 676(@300wpm)
Ways that will either be the best of my life or the worst. I choose right now to believe he will be the best thing that ever happened to me. Because he feels like more than a lover. He feels like a best friend I’m just getting to know. The kind of best friend a girl could fall in love with.
Chapter fifty-two
Jax
Emma’s body eases against mine, her breathing growing steady. I lay there, with her head on my shoulder, me on my back, listening to her breathe. I don’t bring women to my bed. I damn sure don’t lay awake talking to them for two hours that felt like fifteen minutes, because I enjoyed it so damn much. I shared things with Emma about my family, and even after what Brody did to her tonight, she laughed, she smiled, she teased, and she shared her own stories.
What we didn’t talk about was her near-death experience, which came about in direct relation to Hunter’s death. Nor did I press her about her fear of being tied up because I know where that leads, damn it to hell, I know where it leads. It leads to her ex, York Waters. It leads to me wanting to kill that bastard. Emma has hell in her background and what does Brody do? He pushed his bitterness on her when she already has her own baggage to deal with, outside of ours. Part of me wants to whisk Emma away to someplace luxurious and give the two of us time to figure us out before we deal with family.
I start to replay the call I had with her brother after Hunter died, his push to buy the castle from me now that Hunter was gone. Everything about that call had felt wrong, but then I was burning alive with pain and anger over Hunter’s death. I don’t know how objective I really am about Emma’s family. But then, neither was Hunter those last few months. He was secretive and withdrawn. My mind tracks back to two months before he died, to a day that stands out to me and has haunted me for too damn long.
Pulling the black Jag up to the door of the castle, I hand off the keys to Ross, the rapidly graying doorman who has been with the family since I was a child. A man who most likely knows I bought that car six months ago because it was my father’s car. He loved Jags. He loved black Jags to be specific. And I loved my father.
“Is he in?” I ask, and of course, I mean Hunter, the man of the castle since our father died. The bastard of a brother who dodged my calls the entire two weeks I was in Europe, pimping our brand.
“Yes, sir,” Ross replies tightly. “He’s in.”
In the absence of information is information. When Ross is discreet, there’s a reason for his discretion. His response alone tells me there’s a problem, but I don’t press him. This is how he cares for a sick mother, and I don’t pay his check, though, I gladly would. Hunter inherited. Hunter runs this place. Hunter was always dad’s go-to man.
“Thanks, Ross,” I say. “I’ve got this.”
“I hope so, sir,” he replies, that discretion in place, but the message is clear: there’s a problem just as I feared.
The fucking problem, I think, taking the stairs, is that dad’s go-to man won’t go to anyone else for help. Hunter’s shut everyone out, trying to run everything himself when Dad never ran everything himself. I walk through the motions of greeting the security guard at the castle door, his presence necessary, simply because of the business done here in the castle. Once I’m past the dungeon-style doors and inside the foyer, I walk to Jill’s office but stop as I hear, “I did what I could do to help. What more do you want from me?”
I round the corner and appear in her doorway. There’s a flicker of shock on her face that tells me my brother doesn’t want to see me. What the hell is going on? “I’ll call you back,” she says to whoever is on the line, and she hangs up. “Our warehouse manager is a pain in the butt.”
Actually, he’s not, but I don’t want to get into that right now. “Where’s Hunter?”
“His office, but—”
I’m already stepping into the main foyer and heading toward the gateway—the circle of archways leading to different parts of the castle. I head down the hallway to my right and up a set of stairs that walks directly into Hunter’s office. He’s not alone. There’s a man sitting in front of his desk, and Hunter is standing up, leaning on his desk, scowling at him. Hunter’s gaze lifts to mine, and for just a moment, I see anger that isn’t meant for the stranger. The man stands up to face me: tall, fit, salt and pepper hair, less salt than pepper.