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)
They want something from her or think she knows something.
I'd really like to know what.
"Roman is going to go out first, and we're going to follow behind him," I explain to Faith. "The two agents outside will follow behind us. We're going to take you down in the freight elevator and then go out through the employee entrance. There's a car parked right outside the entrance."
Her eyes widen, but she doesn't ask if we're going overboard with safety precautions. Despite trying to keep it from her, I think she knows Tarasova's people have been here looking for her more than once. She's scared out of her mind.
Guilt settles like rocks in my stomach. She thinks about survival. I think about fucking her. If ever I needed proof that this can't happen, it's staring me in the face.
"Stay beside me, angel," I murmur as Roman steps out into the hall, waving us out.
Faith takes a deep breath and then nods, sticking as close to my side as she can get without actually touching me. Even then, the heat from her body sears into me until I'm clenching my jaw so tight my teeth grind together, trying to quell my reaction to her.
Once she catches sight of the two ATF agents in the hallway with their guns drawn, her courage falters. One of the two, Michael Gunner, barely spares her a glance, instead scanning the hallway like he expects the Russians to ambush us at any second. The other, Rick Sanders, eyes her with thinly-veiled interest.
A warning growl vibrates in my chest.
"It's okay," I promise Faith, unable to keep from wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her when she flinches at the sound. My lips accidentally brush the top of her head. The scent of strawberries and cream whirls around me, making my mouth water.
I expect her to tense up or pull away from me, but she doesn't. Instead, she leans into me like she's trying to hide in my shadow. Her soft skin feels like silk against my fingertips.
Heat pumps through me at the feel of her body pressed against mine.
¡Dios mio! Get it together, Octavio, I curse myself, reaching deep into the almost limitless well of resolve I've built over the years. I steel myself against the rush of desire and the softer emotions jangling for attention, pushing them down into a little box and locking them away. I learned long ago to detach and stay focused. To do the shit I do, to see the things I see every day and still sleep at night, I had to learn to remain uninvolved and unaffected, to hold a part of myself back. Doing it with her warm body tucked against mine is a hell of a lot harder than it should be.
I give Roman a curt nod, letting him know we're ready.
"Let's go," Roman barks.
Both Sanders and Gunner snap to attention.
Roman heads toward the freight elevator, his gun up and ready. Faith and I follow behind him. I keep her tucked against my side, shielding her with my body. Her short, jagged nails dig into my side, but I don't think she even notices how she clings to me. Her face is pale, her lips compressed into a thin line. Her eyes are huge, making her appear waifish and so much younger than she is. She's breathing fast, like she's on the verge of an anxiety attack.
"Do you go to church, Faith?" I ask, trying to distract her.
She jerks, shooting me a look that's so full of adorable confusion I would laugh if she wasn't so obviously terrified.
"My mother was a devout Catholic," I explain, keeping her focused on me as Roman hits the button for the elevator. "So, when I was little and something frightened me, she would have me recite the Apostles' Creed in different languages to help keep my mind off my anxiety."
Sanders and Gunner take up positions behind us, watching our six. The elevator groans and begins climbing toward us.
"Do you know it?"
"I…no. I don't go to church." Faith jumps when the elevator dings loudly, her nails gouging into my side.
"Look at me," I command, trying to keep her focused on me so she doesn't panic.
Her honey-brown eyes meet mine again. The tip of her tongue peeks out to dance across her bottom lip again. "I don't know it," she whispers almost apologetically. "I've never gone to church."
"That's okay. I haven't gone to church since I was a kid, but I'll teach it to you anyway," I murmur. It always worked when I was a kid. Maybe it'll work for her, too. Besides, it's the only goddamn text I know long enough to keep her mind occupied until she's safely in my car. "I'm going to say it in Russian. I want you to try to translate it to English for me, okay?"