Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Kincaid watches her until she's gone and then turns back to us, crossing his arms over his chest. His expression firms, the softness leeching from his eyes. He doesn't look pissed though. More…resigned. "I'm guessing you aren't here for the fun of it," he says, looking at me. "What happened?"
"Nikolai Tarasova's people came after Faith tonight. Ambushed them in a parking lot," Roman answers for me.
"Is she okay?"
"She's scared." I clench my jaw at the reminder, rage stealing over me again. Seeing her afraid is intolerable to me. She's lived in fear far too goddamn long because of those pendejos. It ends tonight.
"You leave any of them alive?" Kincaid asks, still watching me with that inscrutable expression.
"Two got away," I mutter, still pissed about it. "Victor Milonov and another I couldn't identify."
"I warned Leyva you were going to rip Tarasova apart if he came for her." Kincaid shakes his head and then scrubs a hand down his face. January comes back out of the bedroom a moment later, a pair of leggings on under her t-shirt. She hands two shirts to Kincaid.
"This should fit," he mutters, tossing one of them to me without even looking at it.
I catch it.
January squeezes his bicep and then shuffles to the kitchen. He watches her go before pulling the second t-shirt on over his head.
"So, what's the plan?" he asks.
"Kill Milonov," I mutter, dead serious.
Kincaid smirks at me but doesn't say anything.
Roman fills him in on what we know while I shrug out of my blood-stained button up and pull his t-shirt on over my head. Like he said, it fits. We're almost the same size.
January steps out of the kitchen with a trash bag in her hands and pads over to me. "They'll probably want you to keep your shirt for evidence or something," she says, holding the bag out to me with a tentative smile. "I hope Faith is okay."
"Thank you, pequeña," I murmur to her, taking the bag from her hands and shoving my bloody shirt inside.
Kincaid keeps a careful eye on her as she ties it up for me and then hands it back before crossing back to his side. He wraps an arm around her, dropping a kiss on top of her head. Watching him with her feels a little like looking in the mirror. Like Faith, she's tiny, barely reaching his chest. She's soft to his hard. He watches her like she's the center of his world, fierce protection and gentle adoration brimming in his eyes anytime he looks at her.
"Get back in bed, baby girl," he orders her, his tone soft.
"I'm going." She smiles up at him and then heads back to their room, leaving us alone again. She looks better than she did last time I saw her. She's healing.
Kincaid notices me watching her.
"She's good," he murmurs, meeting my gaze. "We're all good, Hernandez."
I jerk my chin in a nod, knowing he means that he and I are cool as much as he means that the two of them are doing okay. But I still feel the need to say something.
"For what it's worth," I tell him, "I never wanted to take the case in the first place. I wasn't given a choice."
"I know. As far as I'm concerned, that shit is in the past. We're good, man." He glances toward the bedroom and then back to me. "She's safe, and she's happy. That's all that matters to me. You really think Tarasova is after your girl because she's this football player's kid?"
"I do."
"Finn is working on getting his hands on her medical records so we can confirm," Roman says.
Kincaid's eyes ice over, anger turning them more blue than gray. "Getting real tired of motherfuckers targeting women over money," he mutters, no doubt referring to the fact that Curtis Kaleo targeted him and January over his trust fund. Kincaid didn't even know the trust fund existed until he was an adult, but Kaleo figured it out years ago.
"If she is his kid, she may be worth millions," I say.
Kincaid cocks his head to the side, pinning me with a glare. "What if you're wrong? You prepared to declare war on the Russian mafia for a slave?"
" She isn't a fucking slave. She's my life," I growl, holding his gaze. "And I don't give a fuck if she's a millionaire or not. I loved her when she didn't have anything. I'll love her if she finds out she can have anything. It doesn't matter to me if she's Jackson's heir. I'm more than capable of taking care of her, providing for her. If she has money, it's her money. She certainly won't need it so long as I'm around. And I'll do whatever the fuck I have to do to protect her, even if that means I have to take Tarasova out too."