Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” she agrees miserably. Her eyes go distant. “What if I just come with you?” she asks suddenly. “It’s closer and we’d be together. I doubt anyone knows where you live, at least not yet. You said we had to move, right?”
“It has to be somewhere secure. I take precautions at home. Got a basic Home Shepherd system installed, but hell, it’s not up to par for this.”
“Sounds overrated. All the fancy cameras and systems didn’t stop those guys from trying to break in. The vault could’ve slowed them down, yeah, but if they came after us instead for the codes…” She stands, rocking back on her heels. I’ve never seen her look so serious. “Wouldn’t it be better to go somewhere they don’t know about?”
I want to argue against it, but there’s no good counter when she’s right.
The crew that came after us knew about Leonidas Blackthorn’s main property, but that doesn’t mean they know about mine.
Also, it’s an old house in a dense neighborhood. Harder to stage a hard break-in without somebody else noticing.
Plus, I’ve deliberately kept my details hidden, out of public records as much as I can.
It would also save Kit from my mom’s subpar cooking. I hate that she still puts the effort in and too many meals turn out like crap.
Cleo sees me give in before I know it.
“Okay.” She smiles and nods politely. “I’ll go check on Kit and get packed too. Look after that knee, Holden Verity.”
Then she’s gone, sailing out of the bathroom.
I watch the switch and swish of her hips, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
15
CROWN JEWEL (CLEO)
Before I can blink, I’m spirited away to a calmer place.
Charming old Portland streets filled with coastal art, quiet, and quaint shops melt my dark reality.
Logically, I know a few hours have passed. Hours where we prepped to leave the house with heavy hearts and unspoken tension.
Hours where we wondered if we’ll really be much safer at his place, without anyone daring to ask the question out loud.
Now that I’m away from Gramps’ old house, I can breathe.
And breathing feels so easy when I see where Holden lives. It’s not what I expected, this charmingly classic New England-style house. All dark-blue slats and white shutters. He even has a freaking weathervane on his roof shaped like a whale.
There’s a neat lawn out front and a little path winding up through a couple basic gardening boxes to a cozy porch that looks like it belongs on a postcard.
The vibe, the normalcy, it eases the lead weight in my heart even as it scatters butterflies through my belly.
Home. For now. Holden’s house.
He glances over at me from behind the wheel.
We drove here in near silence. I don’t think Kit ever went back to sleep after the insanity this morning. She’s drowsily strapped into the back, listening to an audiobook on her phone with earbuds.
We haven’t said much since I cleaned up his knee.
God, the bathroom.
I try to banish the diabolical images in my head. The bulge in his boxers, the way he bowed up and growled while I dressed his wound.
Not sexy, not sexy.
And not nearly fast enough.
When I look at him again, his eyes are dark-brown amber on fire.
Holy shit, focus.
“Here we are,” he says grimly. “Home sweet home.”
“You live here?” I joke, shaking my head. “You, and not some cute old man who wears cardigans and makes stained glass birds?”
Actually, I can’t see anyone else living in this space but Holden now.
So ridiculous.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Last I checked, I’m the guy who pays all the bills. You girls wait here.”
I nod and turn toward the back seat, grinning as Kit yawns.
“Must feel good to be back home?”
She shrugs. “It’s okay. Your granddad’s house was cooler.” Her expression clouds.
Eh, we’ll see about that. For now, I just hope it was more dangerous than the humble Verity abode.
My eyes track Holden as he unlocks the front door and disappears inside, presumably to do a sweep of the house before inviting us in. I can’t imagine being this paranoid, but under the circumstances, I can’t fault him either.
Kit doesn’t seem to notice there’s much wrong. She waits patiently until big daddy returns, walking so lightly you’d only notice it if you already knew about his knee.
My heart throbs.
I know he hates showing weakness.
If I suggest taking a breather on the whole manic security guard gig for a few days, he’ll get all snarly and tell me he doesn’t have a choice.
His eyes meet mine through the windshield again. Still so fierce. So guarded.
My breath stalls.
I hold it in my lungs as he stops and waves at us to get out.
“Let’s go,” he says, opening Kit’s door first. “I’ve got the bags.”
“I can handle mine. No need to play bellman at your own house,” I say, heading for the trunk.