Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I have to come to the same conclusion where Owen is concerned. Just because he might be standing in front of me one day doesn't mean he'll be there the next. He made that clear with his disappearing act this morning. Accessible doesn't mean available and vice versa.
I pat the multicolored bear on the back just before leaving the store.
Chapter 19
Hemlock
Blame normally isn't such a hard thing for me to deal with. People do bad things, and they're culpable for it. Meaning their punishment is warranted. The people I hurt have earned whatever pain comes their way. If anything, they've caused more to others than I'll ever have the chance of causing them.
Knowing this and still wanting to blame Zara for how I feel makes absolutely no fucking sense. It isn't her fault I can't get her out of my head. That's my own failure. It doesn't stop me from wanting to pull her from her life and demand that she tell me what the fuck it is about her that keeps me from being able to focus.
I'm not supposed to think of anything else other than this fucking job. It should be mindless work, the outcome resting more on instincts than anything else.
Wanting to spend the day with her was why I had to bolt like my ass was on fire the other day. I crave that woman, and I didn't have to have Ace grilling me about her the other night to know that. I feel like she's a virus that has invaded my blood, and the life draining completely from my body is the only way to rid myself of her.
"You look like you've had better days."
I spin to face Jericho as he enters the kitchen, annoyed that I didn't sense him approaching until he spoke to me.
I shake my hands out at my sides before grabbing my bottle of water from the counter just to have something to do with my hands.
He stands on the far side of the room, his eyes assessing me. When he moves to walk toward the sink, I think I'm in the clear, but leave it to the man who hardly ever wants to speak to choose today as the day he feels the need for a chat.
"I got tangled up in some shit a few years back," he says as he squirts dishwashing liquid in his hand before turning on the faucet. "The cartel leader was testing me. He wanted to know if I was willing to do anything he demanded of me. If I think about it hard enough, I can still feel a hint of the euphoria I felt with that first line of coke."
Wordlessly, I stare at his back, but he doesn't speak again until he grabs a few paper towels and turns to face me as he dries his hands.
"I was at the height of addiction when Ace pulled me."
I glare at him, jaw clenched, but he doesn't speak again.
"Cool story, bro," I mutter, planning to turn and leave, but he continues.
"My point is that if you're in the shit too deep, it's better to let him know now, rather than risk your spot on the team."
"I'm not an addict," I snap, but there's a part of those words that feels like a complete lie.
"He won't fire you. He'll send you to treatment, make sure you're okay before going back out in the field."
"I'm not—"
"There's no shame," he continues, ignoring my response. "They ask a lot of us, and they know we're put in some pretty fucked-up situations at times. They know there will be times when we have to break the law to stay alive. We aren't exactly dealing with good people, man."
I fight the urge to wrap my fist around his throat at the implication that there's anything wrong with Zara, but I maintain enough control to understand he isn't purposely trying to insult her.
"I appreciate your concern," I manage in an even tone. "But I'm not addicted to drugs."
He tilts his head to the side, the scar on his face running straight up and down as he stares at me. "That's too bad."
I scoff, a humorless sound that seems to echo around the kitchen. "That's bad?"
He nods. "Because it means the alternative is true. You fell for your mark, and that shit will get you kicked off the team."
His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I find it more than a little difficult to pull in a full breath.
"I'm not in love with her," I argue, and for the most part, I believe that to be true.
I think I'm a little obsessed with the way she makes me feel, how her proximity calms the poison running through my head long enough that I'm granted a few moments of peace, but love?