Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
“Stay in the car,” Royce orders Brielle like a puppet.
A small smirk pulls at my lips, but then Bastian pins me with a warning glare that means the same thing, I’m to keep my ass where it sits.
And I do … until the second they disappear, and what do you know, I’m not the only one.
Little sister jumps out as fast as me, the two of us staring at the dark smoke billowing high in the sky. I walk up beside her with a small quirk of my lips, unsure of what part to play here, but I adopt one fairly quickly—the stereotype is always the easiest.
“Brielle Bishop, in the flesh.” I look over her petite frame. “You don’t look like the helpless little lamb he’s made you out to be.”
Her brows pull into a frown as her chest grows with a deep inhale. “Not to be rude, but I don’t want to talk to you right now. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Really?” I pretend to be surprised when I’m not. No part of me expected her to know who I was. Bastian shielded her from nearly all aspects of his life. I’m not convinced she needed him to, but what do I know? I do like how she’s not fishing for info on big brother, though. It’s admirable and I am more than happy to give her the silence she’s after. “Huh.” I nod, walk back to Bastian’s car, and slip inside. I know she’s watching me, so I do everything I can to make sure she’s clueless that I’m doing the same as I find a pair of headphones in the center console and tuck them in my ears, lowering my eyelids so she’s sure I’m not paying her any mind.
It works, and she moves to stand beside the truck that showed at the mansion and led to us coming here. She’s nervous, but I can’t guess why. I imagine it’s a lot of things at the moment. Honestly, the girl kind of sucks at hiding her emotions. Her brother is nearly a vault, as she should be if this place really does have dangers that hide in the shadows, as they do in our world. That reminds me.
With one eye on Brielle and the other on my phone, I try Boston once more, but she doesn’t pick up. I try Delta and then Bronx and it’s the same thing.
“What the fuck, people?”
I text Dom.
Me: someone better call me and quickly.
Headlights flash across the side mirror and I look to find a car pulling up next to the truck Brielle is standing by. Quietly, I quickly step out of the car, flipping the knife open at my side and dragging the blade across my thigh, but then Brielle smiles at the guy who pops his head out.
So he’s not a murderous lunatic who found food under the parking lot lights.
A small smirk pulls at my lips and I shake my head, taking a photo as Brielle climbs into the passenger seat. Well, well. Maybe it won’t be so hard to convince Brielle to come back with us after all. That is what he wants, right? To bring her back to Greyson?
A twisted knot forms in my chest, and I press against it.
What if he doesn’t plan on going back to Greyson at all? What happens then?
Slowly, I lower into the seat and try and push the thoughts away, but it doesn’t work. I dial his number to tell him his sister is making a getaway, but it rings in the seat beside me. The panic doesn’t stop, and then my lungs are squeezing, fighting against the dewy night air.
Oh my god, what if I’m not understanding this right?
He was so fast to run here, to leave again … but what does that matter? I didn’t even know he was back until I saw him. Busting down the wall behind the Greyson Estate …
What the fuck has he been doing the last few months?
They couldn’t afford me if they wanted to …
They so could. The Brayshaws come from money. Big money.
But Bastian was never about money.
My eyes fall to the interior of the car, the fresh blue interior, nearly the same vibrant shade as the paint on my car.
Or was he?
Since I met him, the only thing he ever talked about wanting was for his sister to have a good life. And me.
We are here, so that means one of those two things still rings true, but the other … I’m not so sure. He hasn’t said it. Hasn’t touched me. The anger in his eyes shines bright, the hurt heavy behind it, but he did pick me up. He came to me after I left him a voice mail and begged him to.
What if all he’s trying to do is piss off my dad because he felt disrespected? What if this is a game and I’m a chess piece to be dominated on the way to check the king?