Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“We cowrote that song. Jay did the lyrics. I wrote the melody.” Now I’m flat-out lying, but hey, talking about music is better than being stabbed to death. Winning.
How the fuck am I supposed to get out of this?
“But … you invited me here.”
Oh shit. Right. I already said I did that.
Keep talking. Keep him distracted.
Where the fuck is Gideon?
I want to check my phone and see if he’s still on the line, but I can’t draw attention to it in my pocket.
“Okay, you got me. I wanted to invite you here, but I’ve never been with a guy. And you’re right about Evah. I don’t know how she fits into all this either. And this is cheating on her, so I’m getting cold feet.” Maybe I should’ve gone into acting instead of Blake. Although, I don’t actually know how well I’m pulling this off.
The edge returns to Billy’s voice. “Well, I’m here now. I went through all that effort to get in here.”
A car door closes outside. It’s a noise that sounds a hell of a lot like hope.
I hope it’s Gideon or someone—anyone—who can help.
But most of all, I hope it’s not a neighbor.
Billy tips his head toward the sound.
Keep going. Keep talking. Pretend you didn’t hear anything, and don’t let him think someone’s here.
I step closer to him this time. “Sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have led you on.”
“Then don’t.” His feet inch toward me.
A few more steps and he’ll be on top of me.
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Uh … wait a second. I, uh, I’m …” I’m stalling for time I don’t think I have.
Disappointment fills my stomach with lead. If that was a car outside, they’re not here for me or they’re taking their sweet-ass time in coming to rescue me.
I swear I can hear voices too, but maybe it’s the million thoughts running through my head.
I don’t know what else I can do.
“You’re …” He moves, and I step back.
I’m about to be backed against a wall, and then I really won’t have an escape.
Pain shoots down my side as I hit a decorative table with a steel piece of art I don’t remember buying but somehow have. I manage to save the art, but Billy is the closest he’s been yet.
And as the gap keeps getting smaller and smaller, I close my eyes and wish for it to end quickly.
There’s a beat of complete silence, and then out of nowhere, the sound of doors flying open, yelling, and stampeding feet fills my ears.
I take a peek and find a team of people in black storming into the room. With their guns pointed in our direction, one of them yells, “Get down on the ground.”
The voice is so commanding, I almost do as it says.
Billy’s quick to sink to his knees, but he stares up at me with utter disappointment, hurt, and betrayal in his green eyes.
“Hands on your head!”
He does as he’s told but doesn’t take his eyes off me.
I’m frozen, standing completely still as if his gaze has locked me in place.
Arms come at me from the side and drag me away. It happens so fast, I try to elbow whoever it is because my mind hasn’t quite comprehended that it worked—that Gideon got people here in time.
It isn’t until a woman says, “You’re safe,” that I relax and let her lead me wherever she’s taking me.
I’m deposited on my couch, but I shake uncontrollably.
The officer’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “Is there anything or anyone I can get for you?”
“Gideon,” I croak. “My manager.”
“The guy who called it in?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s outside. He got here as we were about to charge in.” She talks over her radio to send him in, and I’m thankful she didn’t have to leave me alone to do it.
I can’t get my breathing under control.
Gideon bursts into the room and lands on his knees at my feet. “Harley?”
I sniff and wipe away tears that streak my face. I didn’t realize I was crying until right now.
With a deep breath, I meet Gideon’s gaze. “I’ll do it. I’ll hire a bodyguard.”
Chapter Two
Brix
Gravel crunches under my almost-bald tires. My shitty 1999 Honda makes a grinding noise as I park in my assigned position. I usually pull in and park my heap of junk next to Corvettes, convertible Mustangs, and Aston Martins, but today, the lot is empty.
Working for Mike Bravo Ops pays well—better than what a sergeant in the US Army earns—but medical bills cost more. There’s no fighting that.
When we’re all called in, and our cars are lined up, it’s not hard to play a game of one of these things is not like the other.
I grab my bag full of stuff that’ll get me through the next few weeks, take my coffee from the cupholder, and then get in the zone as I move toward HQ.