Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 90315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
He’s not smiling right now. In fact, he looks . . . mad.
And that’s fine because so am I. My life is being ripped out from under me.
Gideon’s jaw tightens, and then he finally speaks. “We’re leaving.”
I blink in response. “Who’s we?”
My voice sounds scratchy to my own ears.
“You and me. I’ll carry your bag. Leave your phone and computer and any other electronics here.”
With a frown, I open my tote bag and start to unload the electronics, but I can’t help but ask, “Why?”
“Because they can be traced.”
I nod and reach inside.
“You’re not going to fight me on this?”
I shake my head as I finish laying my iPad on the bed, next to my laptop and phone. I feel bad that I haven’t spoken to Chelsea. She’ll worry when she can’t reach me.
“Maybe I should text—”
“Don’t text anyone,” he interrupts.
“Chelsea will worry when she doesn’t hear from me.”
He’s quiet for so long that I glance his way and see that he’s grinding his teeth together.
“No texts.”
Rubbing my lips together, I start to think up something to say. I know he didn’t like my best friend. He called her a bad influence.
If he only knew.
But then I remember that man holding a gun to my neck, and then the jerk of his body when he was shot and the blood flowing out of him when he fell.
I’ll never forget that.
It’s one more nightmare I’ll have for the rest of my life, and I already had more than my share.
So without tapping out a quick message to Chelsea, I set the phone on the bed and turn to Gideon.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
His eyes narrow, as if he doesn’t trust me. “You’re really not arguing with me.”
I shake my head once and take a step toward him. “No, I’m not. Get me out of this fucking house.”
Without a word, he lifts my bag, and I step into the hallway with him and then scowl when no one else is waiting for us.
“Where are the others?”
“The other what?” His voice is just like I remember it. Hard. Gruff. And it makes goose bumps erupt on my skin.
“Members of my detail.”
“It’s just me.”
I stop and turn to him. “But you’re not—”
“I’ll tell you more once we’re on the fucking airplane. Let’s move. We’re going out the side exit, through the tunnel, to a waiting car. You know it well. You escaped through there many times.”
Pressing my lips together, I resume walking. I can’t even be mad at him for his snarky comment.
He’s not wrong. I know that tunnel well.
Surprisingly, we don’t run into anyone on our way through the house. My parents said their goodbyes about an hour ago, and I haven’t seen my other detail guys.
I still don’t know what was going on with Richie at the gallery exhibit the other night. All of it felt so damn shady.
It’s all a jumbled mess in my head, and when I think about it too hard, I want to cry.
Gideon is right next to me, not touching me, but so close that I can feel the warmth of him, and for the first time in four years, I feel like I can exhale. Like I finally feel safe.
He leads me down the tunnel and outside to the waiting car. When he joins me in the back seat, I realize that it’s Bishop driving.
I never see the director anymore. Why is he our escort?
“What the hell is going on?” I ask him, and he flicks his eyes over to me in the rearview mirror but doesn’t answer me. “Come on. Some guy who is supposed to be protecting me tries to take me, is shot and bleeds all over me—”
Gideon stiffens next to me. His hands tighten into fists.
“—and Richie disappeared on me, leaving me alone with the bad guy.”
“What the fuck,” Gideon says. “You didn’t tell me that part.”
“He didn’t disappear,” Bishop says.
“He wasn’t with me,” I reply. “And my guys never walk away from me.”
“He was distracted. Pulled away. It was part of the setup.”
I shake my head and lean back in the seat, resigned to the fact that no one will tell me what’s really going on. It’s always the same. This is what it is to be the daughter of the most powerful woman in the world.
I do what I’m told, and I’m not told much. It’s infuriating.
“Where are we going?” I ask again.
No one answers me.
“And you all wonder why I’m a pain in the ass,” I mutter, shaking my head as I look out the window as Washington, DC, whizzes by.
We end up at the airport, and I’m escorted onto a private jet. When the door closes, it’s just me and Gideon on the plane.
My eyes fly to his. His face is stony, his eyes flat and calm, showing no emotion. Which is pretty on brand for this man. He never had much to say, and it looks like that hasn’t changed.