Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
We’d saved three women, and I’d made my first kill. I shivered at the thought, my mind not wanting to go there. Antonio’s hand found mine in the dark. His fingers were warm as they laced with mine.
Though we’d gotten the most important objective -- rescuing any women we found -- we hadn’t accomplished shutting down this fucking place. Hopefully, we’d scared them enough they’d be afraid to do anything for a few days until they figured out who’d hit them. By then, I knew Antonio’s men would be better prepared. This whole thing had happened faster than I knew Tonio had been comfortable with.
The SUV wound through backstreets, avoiding main roads, back to the private airport. We reached the safe house an hour later. Kass carried a still unconscious Casey inside while Grace followed. No help for her but to watch her and make sure she kept breathing. Finch helped Hawk while Sully stayed with the vehicles, running cleanup.
Antonio and I stood on the paved drive. He looked down at me, studying whatever he found in my expression.
“How are you holding up?” I could see the concern in his gaze. I also knew he was still pissed at me for being there in the first place.
I shrugged. “I’m fine.” I looked away. “Need a shower.”
“You know, all this will hit you later.” He pulled me into his arms then, holding me close.
“Figured.” I tried not to melt into his warmth because I knew the numbness I’d tried to surround myself in would soon burn off. I really wanted to not be where anyone could see me when it did.
He continued to hold me against his chest, locking his arms tightly around me. I buried my face in the hollow of his throat and breathed him in, his masculine scent, despite sweat and grime the earlier battle, steadying me and keeping the memories at bay, if only for a short time.
The job we’d set out to do was half done, but I knew we’d be back. One thing I’d learned about Antonio Miles was that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice. His hand had been forced by the unexpected timeline, but he’d made his point. Antonio Miles was not a man to be fucked with. Now that Denton had Antonio’s full attention, I had no doubt the bastard’s days were numbered.
Chapter Eleven
Tessa
The water ran cold before I noticed. I was still scrubbing at my hands, nails digging into my palms hard enough to leave marks. There was nothing on them. No blood or grime, nothing the water hadn’t already carried down the drain three times over. I kept scrubbing anyway. My skin had gone pink, then raw at the knuckles, and I only stopped when the cold finally registered, needling into my shoulders and the back of my neck until I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
I stood there another minute under the freezing spray, arms wrapped around myself, staring at the drain. The water ran clear. It had always run clear, but I couldn’t shake the sensation of sticky blood.
My hands hadn’t shaken when I’d killed that man. Not once. I turned them over under the cold water and watched them, steady as anything, like they belonged to someone else.
I shut off the water. The cold followed me out of the shower and settled into my bones while I stood dripping on the bathmat. Down the hall somewhere, I could hear low voices. Casey was in one of the guest rooms, still sleeping off whatever they’d pumped into her while someone watched over her in case she needed medical care. Grace had been given a room of her own, and I didn’t know if she was sleeping or staring at the ceiling the way I probably would be in an hour. Hawk had gone to get his arm looked at, brushing off Pain’s worry the same way he’d brushed off mine. And we still hadn’t heard a solid word on how Gunnar was doing. I think that last one worried me more than anything, other than not finding Mercy.
I dried off, but my movements were more than a little clumsy. Sweatpants and a soft T-shirt I suspected might be Tonio’s, assuming the man owned something other than expensive dress shirts, rested on the vanity. Hadn’t he worn a black button-up to the freaking raid? I put them on because I needed to be covered in something that wasn’t damp and cold. And because I needed Tonio’s arms around me. Since I couldn’t bring myself to go to him in such a state, I had to settle for his shirt. The material was a poor substitute, but all I could bring myself to take just now.
When I came out of the bathroom, Antonio was sitting on the edge of the bed with two mugs on the nightstand. “I made you chamomile tea,” he said. “I don’t actually know how you take it.”