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)
Underneath all of it, though, ran the one thread I couldn’t cut loose no matter how hard I yanked. Mercy Raines. She was still somewhere in the dark I’d only escaped by luck and with a small army. I knew that fixating on her wasn’t really about Mercy. It was about me. About surviving when other people hadn’t and needing somewhere to put that guilt so it didn’t sit on my own chest and crush me instead.
I also knew that the tired, sick feeling dogging me for weeks wasn’t really about her either, though I told myself it was. Some mornings I couldn’t look at eggs without my stomach lurching. Some afternoons I fell asleep sitting up, book still open in my lap, and woke an hour later disoriented and cotton-mouthed. I chalked it up to a low simmering depression I hadn’t had time to examine yet, plus a body that hadn’t kept anything resembling a reliable calendar since the night they’d taken me. Éclipse had knocked my whole life sideways on multiple fronts. Made sense my period would be part of the collateral damage.
It was Veda who finally said out loud what the rest of us had been circling for a week. We sat around the big kitchen table, the four of us, Carrie curled sideways in her chair with her knees drawn up, Darby flipping a butter knife end over end like she might play with a fidget spinner.
“We’re going back to the compound,” Veda said, and there wasn’t a question mark anywhere in her voice. “All of us. Together.”
Antonio looked up from his coffee slowly, like he already knew arguing wasn’t going to get him anywhere but wanted the record to show he’d considered it. “This a discussion?”
“Not at all,” Darby said cheerfully.
“We’ve been up here ten weeks,” Carrie said softly. “Denton’s gone quiet. Knight’s got nothing. We love you, Antonio, we do, but this isn’t a life. It’s a very expensive, very luxurious holding pattern. Not to mention the women we rescued need to find some kind of normal life. They can do that better if we take them back to Haven.”
I watched Antonio’s expression closely. He wanted to argue about safety and every reason he’d stacked up over the last two months for keeping us all exactly where we were. Then I watched him let it go instead. He kind of deflated but did it with a stubborn tilt to his chin. Kind of looked like he wanted to convince himself this was all his idea and Goddamn anyone who suggested otherwise.
“Fine,” he said, then gave me a pointed look. “But Pain checks you over the second we land. No arguments.”
I didn’t argue. Mostly because I was tired, and because some small, buried part of me was relieved somebody else wanted to make sure I was all right, even if I’d have sworn up and down there was nothing to find.
When we left the next morning, it was barely sunrise. I packed one little bag, knowing I had stuff at the compound and, no matter how much money Antonio and his father had, a helicopter was only so big if you wanted it to be practical, which meant limited space. Antonio said nothing, just kept his hand on the small of my back, steering me everywhere like I might run for it at any second. He also seemed a touch overly attentive. I chalked it up to the demand for a sudden change in environment. Antonio might be a badass mob boss, but he was also overly protective. And I thought I might be OK with that.
Once we arrived back at Kiss of Death, deep inside the place under all the camo netting and stuff to hide us, Sully waved from a garage bay. He’d come ahead with Finch to make sure there were no surprises. And yeah, Tonio had to be a show-off and have the pilot land us on top of one of the warehouses they’d had repurposed for this very thing. Might have been more practical than having an escort from the private airport, but I know he enjoyed helping me from the expensive ride like the mafia prince he was. Money and power went a long way.
Hawk’s arm had healed fine, the bandana long retired. And there, in the middle of the yard, propped on a cane with a physical therapist half his age trying to talk him through some range-of-motion exercise, stood Gunnar, cussing a blue streak that probably made Darby proud.
“I don’t give a good Goddamn what the fuckin’ chart says, I’m walkin’ to that fuckin’ grill without your Goddamned help,” he snarled, swatting away the therapist’s steadying hand. “Or a fucking walker! I survived a Goddamned building falling on me. I can survive a fuckin’ hamburger.”
Hannah and Pippa stood on the sideline, each with a beer in hand, and clinked bottle necks before taking healthy pulls.