Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Her shoulders slack in defeat. “Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine, Madi.” She looks around the master bedroom. “I thought the room we were in was nice, but this is something else.”
I look around absently. “Yeah, it’s nice.”
Tillie turns to look at me. “So, um, did he say how he got this house?”
I shake my head, standing from the bed and picking up my duffle bag off the floor. “No, but I do have to say that a lot of shit makes sense now. And I need to have a talk with Tatum and her crazy imagination over these rumors.” I’m shaking my head and unzipping my bag when Tillie interrupts me.
“How so?”
“Let’s just say that they aren’t as bad as they seem.” I wink at her easily. Her face goes pale, her muscles tense, and her smile drops instantly. “Tillie?” I walk toward her. “Are you okay?” Goose bumps spring up all over my flesh from the look she is giving me, but in a flash, her smile is back.
“Yeah, sorry,” she tries to reassure me, but I don’t buy it.
“You sure?” I question, touching her arm. “Looked like you saw a ghost.”
She laughs me off easily. “Don’t be silly.”
I turn back to my bag and pull out my black leather jacket, slipping it on and doing up the buttons before tugging on my Ugg boots. “Shall we go downstairs?” I go to walk past her, and just as I’m about to reach the bedroom door, her hand comes to my arm, stopping me.
“Your turn to promise me that you will be careful, Madi.”
I search her eyes with a smile, but when I see how serious she is, her eyes glassing over with unshed tears and fear rippling over her features, I pat her hand and give her a sincere nod. “Of course I will, Tillie.”
THE FLAMES FROM THE LOG fire Bishop and the guys set up outside in the large front yard of the cottage flickers into the starry night, licking over my skin with each flash. I wrap my jacket around my body tightly again just as Bishop takes a seat on the log beside me, handing me what I assume to be a glass of whiskey. I take it happily, the ice cubes clinking and breaking our silence. A few of the guys are still awake, spread out over the logs that are outside, as well as Nate and Tillie, who are snuggled up on the ground and sitting against one. Nate kicks a stone into the fire. His other knee’s pulled up with his elbow resting on it, and Tillie’s tucked between his legs.
“Nate?” I call out to him softly. He pauses, his jaw tensing.
“What?”
“What’s wrong?” There’s never been any beating around the bush with Nate. I think, from day one, he’s just always been that person I feel like I can trust, despite his shitty decisions. So they play games. When you have as much money as we all do—except Tillie—you find pleasure in shallow tricks.
He looks to Bishop, his lip curling slightly. “No, nothing. Everything is peachy, sis,” he almost hisses, before looking directly at me. His eyes soften a smidge when they lock with mine, and he stands from the ground, making Tillie shuffle up quickly. Walking toward me, he stops directly in front and gently brings the back of his fingers to my cheek, running it down softly. I close my eyes. “Look at me, Madi.”
My eyes open to Nate looking down at me, ignoring Bishop. I could cut the tension.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Then he leaves, tugging Tillie behind him, who watches me from over her shoulder as she gets led back inside. Why is it that even though Bishop just told me what everyone was hiding, I still feel like I’m the only one out of the loop?
Sighing, I hand Bishop my drink and stand from the log. “I’m going to bed.”
He takes my glass, his fingers grazing over mine. “I’m just going to talk with Saint for a bit. I’ll be up soon.”
I smile down at him. “Okay.” Walking back inside the quiet cottage—despite the number of rowdy guys under this one roof—I trudge upstairs, with nothing but my thoughts. Pushing open our door, I pull out some panties and a loose tank before walking into the en suite. Flicking on the light, I place my clothes on the adjoining sinks and turn the faucet on. As the steam fills the large bathroom, I strip out of my clothes and pull a clean towel out of the cupboard, wrapping it around my body.
Why do I feel like there’s a major part I’m missing? I trust Bishop, though. I believe he’s sincere, and that might make me stupid, but why else would he feel like he has to hide something from me? His father being a part of the CIA makes a lot of sense. It aligns every single thing that has happened. That damn missing piece, though. It’s staring at me, flashing itself at me.