Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
We’re minutes from the cabin, close enough that I could close my eyes and anticipate every single turn left to get to the house, but I can't seem to keep my eyes from darting in all directions as if I'm worried that piece of shit followed her from her house to here.
Let that motherfucker show up on our doorstep. He'll leave in a fucking body bag.
Casper assured me that it wasn't Scott Wilson. He has proof on surveillance cameras that the guy was in Connecticut at the time Caitlyn saw someone in her backyard, and that just complicates things even further, having more than one creep to fucking deal with.
"I'm fine," I grunt at Zeus, scowling when he huffs a humorless laugh.
"Yeah. Okay."
Although he has to know why I'm so agitated because he heard me having conversations with both Casper and Lark about Catilyn, he hasn't given me any shit about it. But I get the feeling once I see her for myself, it's going to be open season on the ribbing from the guys.
I don't bother waiting for the SUV to come to a full stop in front of the cabin before I open the door and jump out. Nyx, who is driving, mutters a curse word as more laughter from Zeus scratches at my back.
I'm in a full sprint by the time I make it to the front door, hating that I have to pause long enough to open the motherfucker.
My eyes dart around the living room, my breath coming out in uneven puffs due more to anticipation than exertion.
My gaze lands on Jericho before I slide them away.
I can't even describe the sense of relief I feel when I spot Caitlyn. My eyes assess her, running the length of her body, paying attention to her throat and arms.
I have enough wherewithal to note the uptick in her pulse at the juncture of her throat as she stands from where she is sitting on the sofa.
She looks as relieved to see me as I do her, and I don't hesitate for a second before crossing the room and wrapping my arms around her. She buries her face in the crook of my neck, and before I realize I'm touching her when I know it's something she doesn't like, I feel the dampness from her tears coating my skin.
"Sorry," I whisper, trying to take a step back, but her arms lock me in place.
With her in my arms, feeling like I'm finally exactly where I've always meant to be, I chance a glance up, finding Jericho across the room glaring at me as if I've broken some cardinal rule.
I maintain his gaze, daring him to challenge me right now, but all I get is a simple dip of his head before he leaves the room.
I don't know what this looks like to others around us, but I can't find the energy to care what they might think. I have no way to explain what it is when I don't fully understand it myself.
"I was worried about you," she whispers, her breath warm on my throat.
She gives me one final squeeze before taking a step back.
I feel awkward as my arms fall to my sides. It's weird standing so close to her and not touching her, even though we've had very limited contact with each other every other time we've been in the same room.
"Me?" I ask. "I've been worried about you."
"Lark has taken very good care of me," she says, her eyes dipping to her clasped hands.
A sound, more like a yip than a bark, draws my attention, but I only give Kiva a cursory glance before looking back at Caitlyn.
"Have you slept?"
"What?" I ask, finding the question strange.
I freeze when her hand lifts up and presses softly under my eyes, the contact enough to have me swaying on my feet.
"You look tired," she whispers.
"I'm exhausted," I confess. "It's been a long couple of days."
We battled Adair just as the sun was peeking on the horizon, and with all the things that had to be done to wrap up the case, the sun was already setting. Despite it being early evening, the darkness taking over outside is almost enough to convince my brain that it's bedtime.
As if speaking of my own tiredness affects her in some way, she pulls her hand back, using it to cover her own yawn.
"You need some rest."
She dips her head in agreement. "I tried to sleep earlier, but I just couldn't."
"Let's get you upstairs," I say, holding out my hand and ignoring the stares and uncomfortable silence from the others.
She doesn't hesitate to take it, and I can't help the thrill that races up my spine with the contact, knowing just how important it is.
As we begin to ascend the stairs, I can't help but wonder if Lark put her in my room. The idea that she's anywhere else but in my space makes my skin crawl, but instead of going toward my space at the top of the stairs, she guides me to a different area of the house.