Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I start the engine, tingling everywhere when the exhilarating sound travels through me. I would give anything to have seen Jake ride just once. Anything. For me, as an adrenalin junkie, it even gets my pulse kicking. Jake would have creamed his boxers. I kick the stand up and rev a few times, and Sarah appears in front of me, her mouth moving. She looks irritated, but I can’t hear a damn word she’s saying. It’s a blessing. I snap down my visor and skid off, kicking up clouds of dust that’s probably left her coughing all over the driveway. I shouldn’t laugh. I know I shouldn’t laugh.
But I do.
As I approach the gates, I start to slow, seeing they’re already opening. John’s Range Rover pulls in, and I lift a hand as I pass. As soon as I hit a clear road, I open her up.
I thought I told you to take it easy.
My adrenalin surges.
You’ll get yourself killed.
The world racing by is a total blur.
I don’t want to see your annoyingly good-looking face just yet.
What the fuck?
Jake’s voice, his words, charge through my head like a stampeding heard of elephants, and I yank the accelerator, frowning. The pull of my bike beneath me as I max out the last but one gear is as fierce as first gear. Fucking wicked.
You have something to live for now.
I jerk, only a fraction, but at this speed, a fraction is all it takes. “Fuck,” I curse, fighting with the handlebars, trying to regain control and get myself back in a straight line, automatically easing my grip of the accelerator. I manage to claw back some control and let the bike slow until I’m chugging along at a pathetic forty, getting honked at by cars overtaking me. I blink, shaking my head. “If I have something to live for, why the fuck are you trying to kill me, Jake?” Jesus, that was close.
And get some fucking leathers.
“Fuck off,” I mutter, pulling into a layby to gather myself. “Since when has it been acceptable to talk to me like that?”
Since I’m dead and you’re a fuck-up. And you can’t swing at me.
It’s actually quite a relief to hear my brother and not my bastard conscience. I don’t know what comes over me. I pull off my helmet, and I laugh, leaning forward and using the bars to hold myself up. What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with me? My eyes are streaming. My body out of control, jerking with my hysterics. I’m gone. Take me to the fucking loony bin.
I glance around the countryside, and all I see is Jake’s smiling face. He’s happy. Because I’m happy. Where the hell has he been all this time? I dream of him. Think of him. But never has the fucker ever really spoken to me. And he chooses now? Of course he does. Because . . . Ava. “You proud of me, bro?” I ask, pushing my fingertips into my eye sockets. “I’ve found the woman I want to spend eternity with. A good woman.” Okay, a little younger than everyone probably expected, but still. “You’d love her. She’s smart, like you. Ambitious, like you. Sarcastic as fuck and absolutely does not suit swearing.” I smile. “Yeah, you’d love her.”
Great. But twenty-six, Jesse?
I laugh. “Yes, twenty-six.” God, I miss you, Jake. Still. Scrubbing my hands down my cheeks, I look over my shoulder when I hear a car on the gravel behind me. A car I recognize. “Oh, no,” I say quietly, putting my helmet back on with haste. By the time I’m ready to pull off, Freja has parked her Maserati conveniently in front of me.
I start pushing my way back to gain enough space to swing out. “I thought it was you,” she calls, holding the top of the door, smiling at me like I didn’t send her packing the other night with a few home truths. She starts to wander over, and I seriously dislike the cocky swagger she’s got going on. “I thought you should know,” she says, the triumph in her voice heightening my worry. She knows she has my attention, because her smile’s just widened. She thought I should know what? I don’t want to ask. I pull my helmet back off, waiting for her to hit me with whatever it is that’s going to fuck up my day and my mood. “Mikael has hired a designer for his new project.” She pouts. “I think you might know her.”
Dread. It’s like a pile of bricks falling onto me. I don’t have the capacity to wonder how the hell Freja knows about Ava. All I can think is . . . hell to the fuck, no. Ava is definitely not working with Mikael Van Der Haus. The smarmy fuck. He had little to do with the development of Lusso, his partner overseeing the works. Now? Now he’s met Ava? I bet he’ll insist on more briefing sessions than necessary. More calls. Perhaps a few dinner meetings. Lunch meetings. Fuck, no. “Do you want to keep playing at The Manor, Freja?” I ask, going into immediate damage control. Her fading smile gives me my answer. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, or I will give your husband everything he needs to wipe the floor with you in court, do you hear me? I don’t give a fuck if my Manor is brought up.”