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)
"You're going to be okay, little one," Luke says, climbing to his feet. He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder in a silent show of support. "I'm going to hop in the shower. Knox is right out front if you need anything."
"Okay. Thank you."
He turns and heads toward the hall.
"Hey, Luke?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad Octavio chose you to watch over me," I whisper.
He grins at me and then nods, his eyes bright. He's a really good man. One of the best I've ever known.
When he leaves the room, I lay down on the couch again, resting my head against the arm. The sun is rising outside, burning away some of the shadows in the room. I rest there for a long time, just thinking. I don't know why Nikolai wants me back so badly, but I no longer believe I did anything to deserve it. They're evil, the kind that doesn't have a reason or a justification.
Maybe I should have told them a long time ago where my mom was. Maybe things would have been different for me if I had. But maybe I would never have found Octavio then. What they did will never be right and it will never be okay, but it brought me to him. I'd live it all again if it meant ending up with him.
And when he finally gets back, I'm going to tell him how I feel about him. Even if I'm wrong and he doesn't feel the same way, I want him to know that freedom doesn't mean anything to me if it doesn't include him.
My eyes flutter closed.
"Faith, conejita," Octavio whispers.
His hand slides down the side of my face. His body presses into my front, heat searing into me. I burrow closer, trying to wrap myself around him and soak it all up. Peace flows through me, easing all those raw, painful places Ivan left inside me last night. Octavio's strong arms encircle me, holding me close.
I'm not sure if he's really here or if I'm dreaming. I'm afraid to open my eyes and find out. If it's just a dream, I'd much rather stay right here in his arms. At least here, he's safe from Nikolai, and we're together.
"Little bunny," he whispers, pressing his lips to the side of my throat. "Open your eyes."
"No. I like this dream," I mumble back.
His soft laughter blows across my neck and hits me right in the stomach, sending heat twisting through me. My entire body clenches with desire. There's no way I dreamed that delicious feeling. My mind isn't nearly that good at recreating the way he makes me feel.
"Octavio," I gasp, popping my eyes open. I try to sit up, but his grip on me tightens, keeping me beside him. He's really here. My eyes water as I run them over him, checking to make sure he's okay. His eyes are dark beneath, his exhaustion evident. The sepia color is so warm and soft though. His face is scruffy where he hasn't shaved. He's changed out of his bloody button-down into a DEA T-shirt.
"No llores," he says, sitting up and pulling me up with him when he sees the tears dripping down my face. "Don't cry, bebé. Estoy aquí. Everything is okay."
"You're safe." I crawl into his lap, kissing him all over his face and crying at the same time. "God, Octavio. I was so afraid you weren't going to come back to me."
"You doubted me, little bunny?" He cocks his brow, shaking his head in admonishment. Even then, his smile is tender, his eyes full of emotion. "When are you going to learn? You're mine. Nothing is going to take you from me."
"I can't lose you." I burrow into him, burying my face in his throat to breathe him in. Every muscle in my body relaxes at once, the last vestiges of fear vanishing as his familiar scent hits my lungs.
He holds me for a long time, just letting me sit on his lap and breathe him in. There are a thousand questions I should probably ask him, but I don't want to say anything. All I want to do right now is be with him. Everything else can wait until later.
"Come on, conejita," he murmurs eventually, clutching me to him and rising to his feet. "Let's get out of here."
"Home?" I ask hopefully.
"Somewhere safe," he says.
"Who lives here?" I ask, standing in the living room of a small blue bungalow in a dying neighborhood in the middle of Los Angeles. Most of the other houses on the street are vacant, but this one is neat and tidy. The furniture looks new and there are knick-knacks all over the place. It reminds me of a little old lady's house. There's a faint odor of paint, but it's not overwhelming.
"The house belongs to Michael Kincaid," Octavio murmurs, coming up behind me and wrapping an arm around my waist. "We're going to be staying here for a few days. Just until I'm sure it's safe to take you home."