Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
I didn’t budge and after a few tries, she lost her footing and started to fall. On pure instinct, I snaked an arm out, catching her forearm to keep her upright.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” she seethed, snatching it away. With a heaving chest and feral blue eyes, she stared at me. “I am not a prisoner here. I don’t need your permission to leave. You don’t think it’s safe. Fine. You don’t have to go. But I am. I already called a car, and—”
Any calm I had left evaporated as my head threatened to turn into a geyser.
“You called a car?” I boomed, my voice ricocheting through the hallway with a deafening echo.
To her credit, she didn’t even flinch. She kept her shoulders back and head held high. “I needed a ride.”
I took a hard step toward her. “What you need is a secure perimeter, a vetted driver, two exits, and a plan that doesn’t get you boxed into a church parking lot where half the country, including whoever the hell is after you, expects you to be today. But did you ask for any of that? No. Last we spoke, you snapped at me about some quad espresso what-the-fuck ever, then disappeared into the bed for two days, only to wake up today with a wild hair in your ass to get yourself killed after we’ve spent a week keeping your location off the grid. All for you to fucking blow it by calling a car?”
She held her ground. “I’m not a moron. I didn’t book it under my name.”
“And you think that’s enough? Did you use your phone to book this car? Your credit card? A known service you’ve used in the past?”
She stared at me with wide eyes, giving me all the answers I needed.
“For fuck’s sake, Lofton, you are being hunted. A fake name isn’t going to cut it.”
She swallowed hard, cutting her gaze to the side, her anger morphing into emotion. “What was I supposed to do?” she croaked. “No one even told me his funeral was today.”
That was news to me. I figured her circle was keeping her up to date on that shit. Handlers, management, someone in her carefully curated bubble.
Apparently, grief hadn’t made it into their job descriptions.
It never occurred to me that I needed to be the one to inform her, mainly because there was no possibility I would ever allow her to go.
Her breathing stammered. “Am I just supposed to ignore the fact that he died for me?”
“Bullshit,” I snapped. “He died trying to keep you alive. I’m not sure you running off half-cocked and landing yourself in a grave beside him is quite the show of gratitude you think it is.”
Her brow creased, the fight in her eyes dimming. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”
“Then you should have talked to me.”
She scoffed. “Oh, now I’m supposed to talk to you? I thought you weren’t here to make friends.”
I blinked, confusion dawning on me. “Is that what you’re pissed about? That I’m not here to have a slumber party and make friendship bracelets with you?”
“No,” she shot back. “I’m pissed that you have to be here at all!”
“Well, guess what, Princess. Me. Fucking. Too.”
She drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t reply.
I had to watch myself. I was getting perilously close to breaking Leo’s “don’t cut a woman who’s already bleeding” rule. And, make no mistake about it, Lofton was hemorrhaging and headed straight for a flatline.
We both fell silent. I planted my hands on my hips, willing my heart to slow as I peered down at her.
Shattered, she was still fucking stunning. Her hair was pulled back in a loose twist, dangling pearl earrings brushing her delicate throat. In the short time I’d known her, she’d already lost weight—weight she didn’t originally have to lose.
The black fabric hung off her shoulders like it belonged to someone else. Her collarbones were too sharp, wrists too thin. And there were faint shadows under her eyes that makeup hadn’t been able to conceal.
Despite what she might have thought of me, I wasn’t an emotionless asshole. I didn’t take pleasure in watching her struggle, but it was my job to keep her breathing.
Though emotional health and physical safety didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.
I let out a strangled growl. “I can’t let you go to the funeral.”
Her lids fluttered closed, a tear slipping free and tracking down her cheek.
“But,” I added, already regretting what I was about to say. “If you give me some time, I can make a few calls. I’ll see what I can do about getting you a goodbye.”
Her eyes flew open, so much hope blazing within, I felt the warmth in my own damn chest.
Christ. I was a sucker.
“I’m not promising anything,” I warned. “But they won’t do a public graveside, not after what happened. Interment will be tomorrow. Which means tonight he’ll be at a funeral home. Closed. Quiet. Minimal staff.” I exhaled through my nose, already mapping hypothetical exits and sightlines in my head. “We go late. Two, maybe three in the morning. No press. No crowds.”