Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
"You don't think us being around might be why they tried to play it this way?" Damon asks. Jax is already shaking his head no, and I'm with him.
"The way they handled Bonte’s condo wasn't what I'd call clean. That place should have been sterile by the time we got there." I’ve been thinking the same thing. No one can clean anything up quicker than the Feds. They would have left nothing behind, including fingerprints.
"I could reach out to my handler and tell him I got one of their witnesses." I lean back in my seat, mulling this idea over. “Like I said, he’s an annoying bastard but reliable, and I trust him.” This isn’t the first time Dad has brought his handler up. They do have a two-way street of favors they go back and forth on, going back two decades.
"What can it hurt at this point?" Damon shrugs. "If they are or aren't who they are trying to appear to be, it doesn't matter. If they are WITSEC, then it's already known to them we have her."
"Only a small hub of them would know," Dad cuts in. "But yes, I agree with Damon. Whoever they are, they know she's under our arm."
“And they clearly don’t give a shit. They were willing to kill me, and there isn’t a chance in hell they didn’t run my tags and see it linked back to the Marino family. Agent or not, if they’re in this city, they know who we are.” Everyone nods in agreement. “Any hits on the prints we lifted from the condo?”
“Nothing.” Dad sighs, appearing annoyed but relaxed. Which he’s not, but he’s good at pretending he is.
"All right," I say, standing. "I'm going to check on Bonte. If anything new pops—”
“I’ll let you know,” Dad says before I can finish.
“Thanks,” I tell them before heading upstairs. Or at least I try. Mom is on me the second I step out of Dad’s office. She wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. For as tiny as she is, Mom can still squeeze the hell out of you.
“Are you good?” She drops her head back to stare up at me. I’m sure hearing about my little run-in scared the shit out of her.
“As good as I can be.” I tell her the truth.
“All right.” Mom gives me a soft smile. “Well, you know I’m around. I’m giving her space, but not to be cocky”—that smile quickly switches to a smirk—“she’ll want us bugging her soon enough.”
“I think you’re right.” I lean down and kiss the top of her head, knowing that will make her happy. I’m not wrong; her whole face lights up.
Mom isn't wrong; she often isn't. Today made it clear how much Bonte cares about me. She tries to hide her emotions and wants. At least the ones deep down. She's protecting them. Scared of what might shake them, and today, it did just that.
I need to get this shit figured out and handled. That's what Bonte needs, and I know of one person that shares that determination with me. He helped create this mess, and now he's going to help me clean it up.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BONTE
Binx sits curled up in my lap, purring away. I don’t know if he senses I’m upset, but he’s been all over me since we got back. I was cuddled between him and Eros when I’d fallen asleep. When I woke up, I knew Eros went to speak to his dad and brothers.
It's eating at me that because of me, Eros could have been killed today. I can't keep running from this and hiding. This is a chapter in my life I want to close. I don’t want anyone I love to get hurt. Enough people have died because of me. While I know their demise wasn’t my fault, I still can’t help but feel guilty.
Thinking about everything that has happened has me feeling disappointed and sad about the actions my dad has taken in his life that have so greatly affected mine. A lot of them are centered around me. Now Eros and his family have been pulled into it. When I think about harm coming to any of them, my blood boils. Now I'm pissed.
I open up my laptop, pulling up the message I got earlier from my dad. The word "sweetheart" is still there on the screen.
Me: Dad?
I stare at the screen waiting. I'm not sure why, but I expect to get a response instantly, but nothing pops up.
Me: What? Busy killing people? Can't respond to your daughter?!
Yeah, I'm letting my anger get the best of me. I suck in a breath when a message pops up.
Dad: I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm here.
No, he's not here. He hasn't been for years, but I'm not going there right now, if ever. That would be a giant conversation. One I wish I could have gotten years ago.