Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Stranger?” I gaped at him like he was insane. “I’m not a stranger. I’m Alistair Burkhardt’s daughter.”
Frank looked me dead in my face. “Who?”
He snapped the glass partition shut, returning to his work. I was dismissed.
I flicked from him to the fifteen-foot-tall gate. How high could I scale that thing before he jumped into action and wrestled me down? How guilty would I feel when my boyfriends killed him for trying?
Stifling a groan, I ran back to the car. Wilder, Rafael, Cato, and Lucien gave me matching “what happened?” looks.
“He won’t let me in. Alistair must’ve left, and the minute he did, his family went back to pretending he didn’t exist.” I plopped in the back seat, grabbing my head.
Why did I chase him away? Why did I think I could do all this without him? Standing in that creepy room, I saw how in over my head I truly was.
“What do we do? I need to talk to Saylor, but I can’t even be in the same room with her without the chick trying to kill me.”
Rafael laced his fingers through mine. “Let’s go back to the beach house for now. You’re not getting in that mansion unless a Burkhardt wants you in there. In the morning, swing by Katie’s and have her call Saylor for you. Maybe you can get her to stay on the phone long enough to listen.”
I blew out a breath. “That’s the only option right now. When will I learn to stop underestimating Everleigh Starling?”
“You learned that tonight,” Wilder said. “But she won’t learn to stop underestimating you until it’s too late.”
Wilder started the car and drove away from Saylor’s house. I watched it fade in the distance, frustration welling up and having nowhere to go. My showing back up alive started a countdown, and we were running out of time.
An alert on my phone snagged my attention. I got an email.
“Look at that. It’s after midnight.”
So you decided to do this the hard way. I’m not even mad. It’s a particularly shitty person who steals from their own father. I get why you left me standing tonight. But you don’t get what a big mistake you’ve made.
Looks like we’re going with plan B, which is cool with me. I’m getting that laptop either way.
P.S. Tell my little bro not to resist. Big guy like him makes people nervous.
Frowning, I repeated that last part to Wilder. “Makes people nervous? What is he talking about?”
Wilder flipped a U-turn, sending us all flying.
“Whoa!”
“What the hell, man!”
“The cops,” Wilder bellowed. “The cops know we’re at the professor’s place. They’re either waiting for us, or they’re coming.”
“Fuck!” Rafael punched the back of his seat. “Haven’t met the asshole yet, but I already don’t like your brother.”
“What do we do?” I cried.
“We can’t go back there,” Wilder said. “We need somewhere to hide. Lie low until— Until I can figure something out!”
“Where?” Lucien put in. “We wouldn’t have been staying with the Wilson brothers if we had anywhere else to go?”
“We have somewhere to go.” Wilder white-knuckled the steering wheel. “We’re going to my place.”
WILDER TURNED OFF THE side street and parked in the drive of a cute, black-painted bungalow. I had a vague idea of where we were.
A couple miles east, and we wouldn’t be far from Jack’s beach house, where I hid away after losing my sister. Suddenly it made sense that Wilder and I accidentally crossed paths months before we actually met. My love was always nearby.
“Go in,” Wilder said. “Take any room you want except the one that’s mine. It should be obvious.”
Wilder tossed me the keys and we went in, leaving him behind in the car. His brother just framed him for terrorism. He was allowed a minute alone to think.
“Wilder had a whole house that he didn’t tell us about.” Rafael stepped over the threshold, looking around. “Why am I not surprised?”
I stepped farther in and found a hallway light. Flicking it on, I gave the living room a once-over. It was a rather modest space. Made sense since Wilder didn’t live here full-time.
All the living room had to say for itself was one couch, one coffee table, and a television mounted on the wall. Not a lick of decoration graced the beige walls.
I continued on, passing through the dining room—with no dining table. The kitchen—with nothing in the fridge other than a half-empty ketchup bottle. The den that had nothing in it at all.
One after the other, I stuck my head in the rooms. All were pretty modest. Beds, nightstand, dresser.
But which one is—
I stuck my head inside the last room. Found it.
Wilder had a distinct decorating style. Computers on top of computers next to computers everywhere I looked. And in the middle of it all, a full-size bed beneath a Faraday cage.