Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Not today.
He doesn’t find me today.
* * *
As I round the house, I see Brad’s car pulling out of the gates. Relief makes me that little bit shakier. “Hey, you okay?” Rose asks, coming down the steps with Daniel, followed by Tank who’s got Maggie in her car seat.
“Great.” I force a smile and lift my laptop. “Research. Where are you going?”
“Daniel needs some new cleats, and I need a new outfit for my date tonight.”
Beau struts out with James, Goldie, Otto, and Ringo following, the house emptying—everyone going to work. James points a finger at Beau, a warning, before slipping into a Range Rover with the others and pulling away.
“Did anyone figure out why I have to take Fury?” I ask. The men all seem . . . how would I put it? Active? And Goldie’s back. Suited. Okay, the Vikings always accompany Rose and Beau and the kid, but me? Anya? Never. So, yes, something is definitely off.
“No,” Beau says quietly, watching her husband pull off down the driveway.
“I’ll get it out of him if it kills me,” Rose says as a cab pulls through the gates.
“Who’s this?” I ask. Good grief, don’t tell me Allison has forgotten something and come back? I don’t know if I can hold up this front for much longer.
“Good question.” Beau steps forward, her palms pointing back toward us, like stay back. I’m sure she forgets she’s pregnant. Fury must be thinking along the same lines because he steps forward and puts his massive frame in front of Beau.
We all watch the cab pull up. The door opens. A silver sparkly stiletto appears. “Darlings!”
I exhale my relief when Zinnea appears, dressed to the nines, but her makeup is far from perfect. I smile.
Beau’s wide eyes follow her aunt’s tall body across the driveway. “That’s right. You do the walk of shame.”
“I don’t walk, darling,” Zinnea says, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I sashay.”
“You do the sashay of shame.” Rose giggles.
“You bet your ass I will!” Zinnea stops, kicks a leg up, her head back, and goes into catwalk mode, taking the steps in style as we all laugh behind her.
“Does this mean we get to meet Quinton now?” Beau calls.
“We’re only at oral, darling. Give it time.”
“Jesus Christ,” Tank grunts, shaking his head, and all the girls chuckle.
Zinnea stops at the front door and braces a hand on each side, posing. “Where are you gorgeous chops going?”
“Shopping. You coming?”
“Do The Brit and The Enigma murder on mass?”
I shake my head, bemused, and hold up my laptop. “I’m going to get my jacket. Where’s my bodyguard?”
“Here,” Fury grunts. He looks thrilled.
“Ready for some shopping?”
“No.”
“Fabulous. Give me five minutes.” I call my goodbye to the others as I dash up the steps past Zinnea, heading to our room, excited for my outing. Distraction. I refuse to look at Brad’s door as I pass.
I let myself in and go to the bathroom. “Hey, Anya, you in there?”
There are a few bangs, a collection of knocks, and the sound of frantic movements. “Yes!” she yelps.
I step back from the wood. “Are you okay?”
The door opens and Anya appears, rubbing her head. “I hit my head.”
“Ouch,” I say, wincing. “Let me see.” She removes her hand and I have a quick check. “There’s no cut. Might be a bump though. I’m heading into town. Coming?”
She moves past me and opens the wardrobe, rubbing at her head again. “I need to go to work.”
“And I don’t,” I muse quietly, slipping my things into my bag and grabbing my jacket. “See you later.”
15
BRAD
* * *
I kill most of my day in my old apartment just sitting on the floor in the corner. Alone. Letting my mind turn in circles, driving myself crazy. Fucking Allison didn’t have the desired effect. Nowhere close. Taking her back to the house? Don’t ask me what the fuck I was doing. Being a jerk? Stirring shit when I should be letting it settle? Not that it matters. Pearl was unfazed by my childish stunt. I feel used. Abused. Injured. It’s fucking ridiculous. Allison rode me like her life depended on it last night, screaming, crying out, thrashing her head around. Her effort was commendable. And fucking pointless. I couldn’t come. Chased the fucking release for hours and got nowhere close. Then I relented to all that is fucked up, blanked out Allison, put Pearl on my lap instead, and came on a bark of frustration, tossing Allison aside and taking myself onto the terrace to smoke my way through the rest of the night. Again, no sleep.
I laugh under my breath as I stub out my smoke in a used paint can. It’s a shell. Weeks away from being finished. Which means I’m weeks away from escaping. I pull my cell out of my inside pocket when it rings and sigh at the screen. “Allison,” I say with no warmth or happiness.