Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
There is a moment of silence before Griff speaks again. “I’ll send a team for his computers tomorrow. Maybe, they can track down my fucking money.”
“Send mine while you’re at it,” I say, “What the fuck do you want me to do with the girl?” I don’t have to pretend to sound annoyed because this fucker is grating on my every nerve. More than usual. I look over at Frankie, the sheet draped haphazardly over her tits, her shiny dark hair splayed all around the white pillow.
She wakes with a flutter of eye lashes. Her golden eyes meet mine.
I’m done for.
I can’t imagine a world without her in it. I can’t kill her. Don’t think I ever really could’ve. Not when she’s already killed me, or at least the person I used to be.
“Whatever the fuck you want,” Griff snorts. “Dispose of the girl. But before you go, move Frank’s body off the desk so my team has complete access to his computers when they get there tomorrow. Maybe, second time is a charm, and they can track down my fucking money. I’ll transfer your funds now.” The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone. Griff wasn’t his usual self. There was no small talk. No questions about my future plans. No comment about my one-man team. Something is off. Not to mention this was the first time he’d hung up on me and not the other way around.
“Is everything okay?” Frankie asks sleepily.
I click the burner phone shut and set it on the nightstand. As much as I want to wrap my arms around her and sink into her again for a much needed repeat of last night, something isn’t sitting right with me about that call.
About Griff’s demeanor.
“Did he buy it?”
“Yeah,” I say softly, but I’m going over the conversation in my mind for the hundredth time in the last few seconds, searching for the knife in the needles.
“What is it?” Frankie asks, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around her chest.
It hits me like a bullet to the back. “Shit,” I leap out of bed. “Get dressed. We gotta go, and we gotta go NOW.”
For once Frankie listens and pulls on her clothes, I do the same “What happened?” she asks, shoving her feet into her shoes and pulling her t-shirt over her head.
“He told me to remove your old man from the desk to give his team better access to the computers when they get here,” I tell her.
“So?” she asked, hopping up and down to pull up her shorts.
I grab my cut and shrug it on. “So, the problem is My text said that I found your old man slumped over dead. Didn’t say shit that he was at the computer or at a desk.”
Frankie’s eyes went wide with understanding and fear. “Cameras?”
I nod. “Fucker saw and heard everything.”
“Shit,” she says, pushing her feet into her shoes.
“He knows it was you and not your old man. He’ll be coming for us soon. I bet his men are almost here already.”
“I have to tell you something,” she says.
“Not now, right now we have to get the fuck out of here.” I take her by the arm and lead her from the room just as the window of her bedroom shatters. Glass shards pierce my back. A bullet whizzes right by my ear before exploding into the wall a few inches over Frankie’s head.
Over the unending, unyielding barrage of gun fire, the urge to protect Frankie is downright overwhelming. It’s my only goal. My only mission. The most important fucking job I’ve ever had. While the house explodes around us, a realization hits me harder than any bullet.
I’m not just in love with Frankie.
I’m prepared to die for her.
Chapter Forty-Seven
There’s so much gunfire. I barely have my shirt on over my head when the walls explode all around us like they’re made of paper. Smoke’s grip on my hand is so tight it’s almost crippling as he yanks me down the stairs, but I don’t tell him to let up. I won’t. I need to be connected to him.
We race down the stairs and out the back door through the woods.
The gunfire follows.
The pace is lung-burning and never-ending. I’m in good shape, but I’m falling behind.
Smoke stops, tugs on my arm and lowers me to the ground on my hands and knees. He pushes me toward a large tree with a hole no larger than a couple of feet hollowed out at the bottom of the trunk.
“Hide in here,” Smoke orders. Voices shout to one another in the not too far off distance. “I’m a huge moving target. They’ll spot me a lot faster than you, but I can outrun them. Stay here. Stay quiet. I’ll lead them away from you.”
“No! Don’t go!” My words are a whispered yell followed by a choked-out sob.