Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
“That’s understandable,” he comments in a murmur. We’ve all had our fair share of squeamishness over some of the shit we’ve done and certain things we’ve been through.
They’ve saved my ass more than once but I’ll never forget the first time I stared down the barrel of a gun. We were in a shoot-out and cornered in the back of the warehouse we were working out of. By all accounts, we shouldn’t have made it out alive. Even the memory of that moment makes my heart race and a cold sweat line the back of my neck. I stared down the gun that was about to end my life and I knew I was going to die.
I didn’t see Carter's gun at the back of the guy’s head. I watched as he shot him three more times for good measure, though. Standing over him, Carter's expression would have been the definition of a hateful gaze if not for the way he glanced back up at me. His eyes were filled with the fear of loss. He waited for me to stand, to catch my breath before handing me the spare gun in his holster. I wasn’t the only one who thought I was going to die right then and there.
“You think she needs help for that?” he asks and my hackles rise.
“Help? Like what?” I bite back, hating how he’s battering me with questions and that I don’t have a good fucking answer for them. “She’s fine,” I tell him with finality.
“I don’t mean any offense by it … just that she might want someone to talk to?”
So now instead of wanting her gone, he wants her in a fucking padded room? I keep the snide thought to myself.
“Calm down, Declan,” he tells me and his hand lands on my shoulder. “I’m not judging. I’m only trying to look out for the both of you. You want me to shut the fuck up? I will.”
My throat tightens as the uneasy emotions wash through me.
“You’re scared of what she’s going to say?” he asks and gets right to the bottom of it.
“She said she didn’t do it, but it’s not like the feds could have hacked it.”
He watches me as I struggle with the frustration of it all.
“And you’re wondering what if she’s lying to you?”
“No. I’m wondering what if she really didn’t? What if she went through that shit because I didn’t give her a chance?” The words escape me with more emotion than I’d like.
“You really think they could have possibly gotten it any other way? You were the one who set it up and for good reason.”
“She’s not dumb, but she can be naïve and maybe something happened where she didn’t mean it and she didn’t realize what she was doing.”
“The odds of that are slim, Declan.”
“I’m aware … So here we are,” I say, then gesture to the monitors and right on cue, Mike and Brian appear on the screen, walking side by side in expensive suits down the hall.
My pulse races. “I fucking hate this.”
“The things we do for love,” Carter murmurs.
“Whatever happens—”
“She’s yours. I won’t tell a soul and whatever you’d like to do with her, whether it was an accident, whether she’s actively working with them … whatever you want to do, she is yours for you to deal with.” He pats my shoulder once before leaning back in his seat. “I’m only here because you asked me to be.”
I face the screen just as they walk in, and rub the back of my neck as if that will keep the nerves from wreaking havoc. “We don’t have to do this,” Carter reminds me.
“No. She said she didn’t do it. If she’s working with the feds … well, then we’ll know.”
Be my good girl, Braelynn.
I don’t know what I’ll do if she fails this. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to look my eldest brother in the eye again if she takes this bait.
BRAELYNN
The moment it seems as if the morphine has kicked in, and all of the pain and soreness vanishes, two men walk into the room unannounced.
No knock, no warning.
I only realize they’re cops when the one on the left holds up his badge and tells me he’s Detective Barlowe and his partner is Detective Hart. Both of the men are clean-shaven, in sharp suits and with fresh haircuts. The taller one, Hart, seems older; he’s a Black man with wrinkles around his eyes and so far, he’s been quiet. It’s his counterpart, a younger white guy with sharp hazel eyes who’s doing all of the talking.
My stupid heart races and the monitor displays that truth all too loudly, with the incessant beeping picking up. Shit, shit, shit.
“No need to be nervous, Ms. Lennox, we just have some questions for you.”