Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“We’re not moving out,” Maximoff declares in finality.
Farrow combs a hand through his platinum hair. “Before you take that off the fucking table, how about we talk this through?”
“Alright.” Moffy nods. “And so my brain isn’t all over the place, I need to know. Are you here as my bodyguard or my husband—future husband.” He rolls his neck back, glaring at the ceiling.
The air tenses with his slip. Mostly because Farrow isn’t joking back like he normally would. This really is a serious matter to our bodyguards.
“Both,” Farrow tells him. “But you need a bodyguard more right now to tell you you’re being stubborn.”
“Then I must be stubborn too,” I interject quickly. “Because I agree with Moffy. I don’t think we should move out.”
Thatcher’s jaw contracts. He’s only looking at me.
I explain fast to him, gripping my mug tighter. “The townhouse is our home. We shouldn’t run in fear.”
Thatcher never drops his gaze. “It’s the most unsecure location, Jane.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not secure,” I note. “And I know that you both ”—my eyes ping between Thatcher and Farrow—“think we’ll be safer if we move, but I don’t believe we really will be.”
Maximoff nods strongly. “And we’ve been dealing with this shit for ages. It’s nothing new.”
“The Cobalt brothers don’t have drones smacking into their doors,” Farrow combats. “You know why? Because their front door is inside a hallway.”
Maximoff crosses his arms over his green crew-neck. “So we move and some drones quit annoying us? But, man, that’s not going to stop the possibility of a break-in. ” He uncrosses his arms just to motion to the door. “Celebrity homes are getting broken into in fucking Malibu and Calabasas left and right and they live behind gates and security force fields. If a burglar wants in, he’s gonna get in. We can’t be afraid of it.”
“Burglar?” Farrow repeats, brows rising. “What did this fucker steal tonight, Maximoff? Tell me.”
Silence deadens the air, but none of us look away from each other.
I stand tall. Like my mom taught me. Chin raised. Shoulders back. Whoever says the truth aloud will make the truth more real.
“He stole nothing,” Thatcher says bluntly. “It’s looking more likely that whoever broke into this house wanted one of you to be home.”
The intruder wanted to put his hands on one of us. To touch us.
To hurt us. In some terrible way. A sickening feeling creeps down my body again, and my face twists in a cringe. But I look straight at Thatcher.
His strong, protective gaze is right on me. Such a source of comfort that I never want to leave.
I say softer, “How do we know that he’s not after you or Farrow? You’re both in the limelight as well, and Luna and Sulli live here too. They could be potential targets.” That possibility worries me.
Seeing them afraid always hurts more.
Thatcher looks deeply into me. “The active stalkers on our radar right now are surrounding you.”
Because of the Cinderella ad.
Farrow runs his thumb over his lip piercing. “And there’s one fucker out there who we know for certain wants to torture Maximoff.”
My stomach drops.
Nate.
I look from Thatcher to Farrow to Maximoff beside me. These are the three men that have been so inextricably affected by the bad apple that I brought into the house.
I clear a pained ball in my throat. “What’s the probability that Nate is the one who broke in?” It hurts even saying his name.
Thatcher explains, “The team is still looking into where he was tonight.” His eyes carry more security than anything I’ve met. As though to say, you’re safe in my arms no matter where he is.
I want to be shielded within Thatcher Moretti’s powerful embrace tonight, tomorrow, and next week and far beyond Halloween.
I’ve never met such a taunting dream. And this one is taunting me oh-so-very hard.
I take a tight breath. “I just want this to be out in the open. The threat of Nate is not enough to make me want to move out of the townhouse. In fact, it’s exactly why I think moving will serve little purpose.”
They all wait for me to explain. Their concern bearing down on me. This is the most I’ve spoken about Nate in a long while.
“I have a restraining order against him. If I move somewhere in the hopes of keeping my new address private from Nate in particular, I won’t be able to. One of the provisions of the restraining order is that he has to know my home address just so he can stay away from me.”
They all tense.
Thatcher’s nose flares, his eyes pierced like he could murder Nate.
Farrow is not much better, and Maximoff is cracking his knuckles next to me. His glare just as hot and deadly.
My coffee has gone cold in my hands. I haven’t even taken a sip. “To be frank…it feels more violating if Nate knows something that is meant to be private.”