Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“In other words,” Tad observes, “Creed now knows Brock, your contact, to be a traitor.”
“And that means what?” I snap. “To expose Brock West to Powell exposes GTECH knowledge of Red Dart. Creed won’t give Powell a chance to take it underground.”
“Addie is here,” Tad points out. “Creed obviously plans to fuck her and use her.”
“He’s missing the big picture,” I say irritably. “West is close to Red Dart. Creed is injured. He’ll be forced to sleep off his injury. By the time he’s capable of approaching Addie and using her to get to Red Dart before us, she’ll be dead.”
“She’s not dead,” Julian snaps. “Why the fuck is that?”
“I’ll handle it personally,” I assure him.
Police cars screech to a nearby halt, but Julian’s attention remains on me. “Bring me proof she’s dead by nightfall tomorrow or suffer the consequences.” He fades into the wind, not even a leaf ruffling around him.
My gaze collides with Tad’s, the hunger for violence rippling between us, but human voices lift, forcing us both to windwalk out of their paths and away from each other, but our departure changes nothing. Tad will die before this is over, but not before Addie Powell.
Chapter Seventeen
Addie
With nerves destroying me, I stand at the front desk of the hotel while an elderly man argues over every penny of his bill, with two other people in front of me. A full twenty minutes ago, I managed to arrive safely to my room, but my key did not, and I cannot believe my stupidity which I’ve had plenty of time to consider while waiting my turn to see the clerk.
It's going to be okay, I tell myself, my hand reaching inside my purse, yet again, for the weapon that is not there, my gaze discreetly scanning for trouble. Finally, another representative steps behind the counter and soon, I’m holding a new key and forcing myself to walk calmly toward the elevator, when I wish I could run. I was foolish tonight. My fear of trusting Creed again drove me to act on my own rather than reaching out to him and to what end? At any moment, Brock could stand in my path, with the intent of killing me. Information, I remind myself, I know only because I followed Brock.
I chide myself as justifying stupidity seems to be something I do well tonight.
I reach the elevator and punch the call button, thankful when the car opens and it’s empty. Hurrying inside I hold my breath as I’m sealed inside, collapsing against the wall. I’m almost back to the room. I just need to be in my room. An uneasy feeling rushes over me and I straighten.
Creed.
In utter defiance of the hate I’ve told myself I feel for Creed, a deep, intense fear for his safety overtakes me. He’s in trouble. I know it in every part of me. I don’t know how I know, but I know. I feel it in every inch of my body, practically taste it in every laden breath I take.
The elevator halts and dings, and I fight the urge to dart, forcing myself to wait for what waits on me on the other side. The doors part and when there is no one on the other side, air gushes from my lungs, and I rush into the hallway. The sense of Creed being hurt, being near, comes to me with clarity and I double step.
He's in my room.
Seconds pass like hours and when I’m finally at my door, I swipe for entry, only to hear the door next to mine open, and I swear, chills race down my spine. Before I can escape, I hear, “I wondered where you were, I was worried. I’ve been knocking for a while now.”
Brock.
I’m trapped like a rat.
And a while, my ass. It’s a miracle he’d beat me back here. I grit my teeth and school my features before glancing his direction. “And here I thought only my father worried.” There’s distinct and well-intended sarcasm in my voice. “And if you must know, I tried to find a twenty-four-hour pharmacy with no success. Looks like I’ll be paying an arm and a leg for a toothbrush at the airport in the morning.” I cringe at the horrible excuse when I could have called room service, but it’s already out, and on a positive note, it’s nothing I believe he can offer me from his room.
At this point, I’m forced to rotate to face him, but I keep my shoulder tight to the door. It’s still a mistake. It’s like an invitation to a predator like Brock. He saunters, his bulky body heading in my direction and he doesn’t stop until he’s close. Way, way too close considering I could choke on his pungent cologne and it smells like death.
My death, as he is my would-be killer.