Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
There was a small duffle bag on the top shelf of the closet. Fenway told me when I had asked that they were in all the rooms, just a simple change of clothes to throw on if they should ever need them, generic tees and slacks.
Quin probably had a full suit downstairs, tie and all.
I took a deep breath, fighting off the disappointment, then taking my time scrubbing my body, brushing my teeth and hair, then finally getting dressed, and making my way out to the common room.
Fenway was gone, likely having to be part of the meeting regarding his car that probably literally cost more than my house.
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be doing with myself. My case was over. I didn't need the safe house anymore. I could go back to my life. But I had a tracker on my ankle. And I couldn't get out of the room without someone punching in a code.
Figuring it was an eventuality that would come far too soon, I went back to my room, carefully folding all my clean clothes into a reusable shopping bag Jules had supplied, and the wash in a plastic bag I found in the kitchen.
Then I made a cup of coffee, and sat down in the living room, pretending to be watching TV, but just rolling over the events of the past few days instead.
Your life could change in an instant.
I guess I had never realized that before, having always done everything according to a plan, never taking risks, never stepping outside the line. Nothing ever really happened, so my life had been the same for many long years.
Then it changed all at once.
It was scary, foreign, uncomfortable.
But also oddly exhilarating, revealing.
And now they were going to tell me that I had to go back to my old life, keep my old status quo.
The only thing sadder than that was realizing that Quin wouldn't be around anymore either.
Sure, it was new. He was new to me, but that didn't change the fact that I felt connected, maybe even a bit attached.
"Ugh," I growled, jumping up, moving to look out the front windows, the glass a bit thicker than normal, so I figured it was bullet resistant.
I didn't want to be that girl, the one who saw rings and heard wedding bells just because she slept with someone.
I simply couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than that - more than the sex. It was a tugging sensation in my gut, something akin to how it felt that morning when I woke up and knew my stalker was going to become more than that.
A gut feeling.
Some phenomenon that had never existed in my life until recently.
Before I could consider that too much, there were footsteps on the stairwell, then the beep of the keypad as someone pressed in the digits.
I turned, belly fluttering slightly, expecting Quin.
But Fenway and Gunner moved in instead.
"Heya sweetheart," Fenway greeted, his voice and face missing some of its cheer and charm, the meeting clearly taking something out of him. "Sorry about all this," he said, moving down the hall, uncharacteristically surly, going into his room.
Leaving me with Gunner.
"Everyone but me is wheels up in an hour," he told me, ripping the band-aid right off. "I get the pleasure of staying behind to babysit Fenway and Jules. You got your stuff? I got your mutt waiting downstairs. Oh, and by the way," he said as I walked away because there was an uncharacteristic stinging in my eyes, and Gunner was possibly the last person I wanted to see that, "I changed your oil. You know that light doesn't come on for shits and giggles."
"Thank you," I grumbled, going into my room, making my way to the pile of belongings on the bed.
A vision of the night before flashed before my eyes, making me need to take a deep breath and try to tamp the accompanying feelings down.
It wasn't until I heard him speak that I realized Gunner had followed me. "He shouldn't have gone there," he said, making me jump and turn half-guiltily. "Not with you."
"Gee, thanks," I said, not bothering to make my tone friendly. "Also, it's none of your goddamn business."
"Nope, it's not," he agreed. "But here you are after he crossed a line, and you're upset about it. I wish I could tell you that you are going to get hearts and flowers, Aven. But you're not. That's harsh, and you can think I'm a motherfucker all you want; I am. But I won't lie to you. Your best bet is to get your shit and your mutt, get in your car, and forget you ever needed fixing, forget your life ever veered off the straight and narrow even for a minute."
He wasn't wrong.
That was maybe the worst part.