Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
He comes to a stop directly in front of our table, cutting off any path for me to escape.
“I could say the same, but I’m not sure it would be the truth,” Braken drawls. Which part is a lie, the pleasantness or the surprise? I don’t have time to ask. He turns to Bobby and offers out a hand. “Braken Frost. Fiora’s fiancé.”
“Fiancé?” Bobby’s eyebrows go as high as his forehead. “Why didn’t you say anything, Fiora?”
I lift my left hand, showing off Braken’s ring, the diamonds shimmering in the afternoon sun. Bobby whistles and finally returns Braken’s handshake.
“Well, I’ll be. I’m Bobby Thompson, nice to meet you.”
“He’s Mason’s best friend,” I add quickly so Braken doesn’t get the wrong idea. A streak of cold lightning crashes in my ribs at the thought. Why do I care what Braken thinks of my relationships? “We were exchanging stories.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt your reminiscing,” Braken says politely, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat and wiping the hand that Bobby shook. “But Fiora and I have an engagement.”
“Sorry,” I breathe with an apologetic smile to Bobby. “Wedding stuff, you know.”
I don’t want to follow Braken back to his car and I definitely don’t want to slip into the backseat with him, but I’ll do anything to finally get away from Bobby and his boats. Plus, I don’t want to make a scene, and something about Braken tells me that though he’s being polite now… he won’t hesitate to speak his mind and act however he chooses, regardless of who is watching.
“The helicopter is waiting,” he says, the lack of emotion in his tone making me nervous. “We’re going back to Heathens Hollow.”
Chapter 23
Fiora
Being back at The Vault makes my body flush.
Although I ask to be taken back to my own place, Braken merely tells his driver and bodyguard Jasper to drop us off outside the old bank building. He hasn’t spoken a word the entire car and helicopter ride, and still hasn’t said anything, even as he inputs his door code. It’s still the same code from a few days ago. I don’t have time to think about what it means, as Braken turns to me and orders me inside.
I slip inside without responding, shrug off my jacket and toss it on the couch like before. The evidence of our tryst is gone. The desk is once again pristine and practically sparkling. Braken throws his coat over the back of his sofa as he heads toward the bar in the left corner of the room, leaving me standing there like a fool.
He pours himself a glass of whiskey on the rocks and only acknowledges me after taking a sip. “Care for a drink?”
“I’d rather not.” My body is already hot, and I don’t need another problem blocking my good judgment.
Braken sets the glass down then calmly asks, “Then care to tell me what the fuck you’re doing, Fiora?”
The way he glowers at me makes me swallow. He plays with a few rings on his fingers, giving me a good look at the tattooed sleeves. Dark ink covers from his wrists to his shirt cuffs, a mix of roses and thorns that stands out against his tan skin. His brown hair now falls over his eyes, shadowing them even more. For a second, I forget what he asked, too lost in how fucking hot he is.
I come back to my senses. Who cares if he’s hot when he’s a dick?
“I’m finding answers.” I cross my arms over my chest and return the angry stare. “Since no one wants to include me.”
“Have you ever thought you’re not included because you might be next?”
The question is chilling. My body goes stiff as Braken takes another swig of his drink. Of course, it’s crossed my mind. Hits against crime families aren’t usually one and done. I could be the next one on the chopping block, here one day and gone the next, just like Mason.
“That doesn’t mean I’m just going to sit here while the murderer is still out there.”
“And if they get you beforehand?” Braken pushes off the bar and begins stalking around its top, eyeing me like he’s a lion, and I’m his prey. “You think you can fight off someone if they come for your throat? If they stab you from behind? If they get a jump on you and snap your neck? What about if they shoot you and leave you to bleed out on the streets of Seattle?”
He stops right in front of me, voice low and body dangerously close. “This isn’t a fucking game, Fiora.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I shoot back. My quiet response trembles with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “I know clearly since I was supposed to—”
I stop. Braken eyes me curiously but gives me time to finish my sentence. I don’t. Braken doesn’t need to know about the guilt that keeps me up at night.