Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
As the passenger door jerks open, I blink a couple times to make sure I’m seeing correctly.
Charlie is suddenly sitting in the front seat without a single glance backward. As if it’s reasonable for him to be in this car with me.
It feels so seamless. Like there was never any question. My four brothers were always going with me to find Harriet. My nerves haven’t calmed. I don’t think they will until I see her.
Who’s driving? The mystery is solved quickly as Charlie’s bodyguard gets behind the wheel.
Oscar Oliveira is a thirty-four-year-old seasoned pro, a Yale graduate, an ex-professional boxer, and one of my family’s favorites in security. Seriously, I think my dad would rather saw off an arm than fire Oscar. He’s the only bodyguard that’s been able to last on Charlie’s detail. All the others quit or were canned.
Oscar has a loose grip on the wheel, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled to his strong forearms. He’s Brazilian-American with golden-brown skin and dark curly hair, and I’m sure this is just another hectic Cobalt night. He’s unfazed.
He gazes through the rearview, meeting my eyes. “Where are we headed, Ben?”
I tell him Harriet’s address from memory, then I crane my neck behind me and peer past Tom. Seeing the second Range Rover through the back windshield. Our other bodyguards pile into the vehicle and peel out onto the street as Oscar relays the destination through their radios.
They end up following us though. Once we’re on the road, everyone is so fucking quiet, my ears start ringing again.
I’m about to speak, but Tom shifts forward to croak out, “See, this is why you don’t open umbrellas indoor, Eliot Alice. Bad shit follows. I’m probably going to lose my voice forever.”
Nausea churns.
Beckett gives him a look. “You’re going to lose your voice because you keep talking.”
“No, let’s blame the umbrella,” Charlie says, sarcasm thick. “Because that’s definitely what made him scream like a banshee for five minutes straight.”
“You were timing me?” Tom rasps. “He was timing me?” he asks Eliot.
“Brother, I love you,” Eliot says, “but shut up. For your own sake.”
Tom slides back in his seat with a heavy sigh, and I crack my stiff neck, my nerves tensing every inch of muscle. “Is anyone going to tell me what happened?” I ask. “I wasn’t in the bathroom that long.”
“I don’t know, dude,” Tom whispers, his voice getting softer. “She ran out of the building crying. That’s all I saw.”
“Likewise,” Eliot says. “They weren’t tears of joy either.”
My stomach knots, and while I talk, I send her a text, asking where she is. “What was she running away from?”
Beckett takes a deep, readying breath. “She was in the parlor with Charlie before she ran out. He won’t tell me what happened.” He glares at the back of Charlie’s headrest, and I wonder if this has been a point of contention.
I lean forward, prepared to stick my head between the driver and passenger seat to strangle my eldest brother. “So you did do something,” I accuse as both Eliot and Beckett pull me back against the seat.
Of my brothers, I’m the most hot-tempered, and that’s very blatant tonight. Hockey used to help—I blew off a lot of steam on the ice. I just let all the tension go.
That outlet is gone, and my fuse has been cut shorter.
“I did nothing.” Charlie rotates in his seat to face us. “And like I told Beckett, I’m not in the mood to recount the events of tonight. She’s your so-called friend. If she wants to tell you, she can. Otherwise, I guess we’ll never know what happened in the Library.”
“I bet it was Professor Plum with a candlestick,” Eliot quips. “That purple bastard.” His attempt at eradicating the animosity falls flat with me. Charlie cracks a smile though, and it ramps up my festering anger even more.
I’m hanging on to something he said. So-called friend. Charlie doesn’t mince words. He says exactly what he means.
“She’s my friend,” I tell him. “There’s nothing so-called about it, Charlie.”
“Whatever you say.” He flips on the radio. Soft pop fills the car, and I can’t stop thinking about how Charlie didn’t even tell Beckett what went down. Why? Who the hell is he protecting? I’d say himself, but Charlie has never cared about being painted as a villain.
He’s never given a shit what people think about him.
I rest my forearms on my thighs, feeling winded. I’m not sure interrogating Charlie will get me anywhere. I just need to find her.
Beckett has a hand on my back. It’s calming, and I take a few deeper breaths. I’ll find her, I assure myself.
I’ll find her. Because I’m not stopping until I do.
No one talks the rest of the way. Mostly so Tom quits interjecting. We help save his voice for him, and when Oscar pulls up next to the apartment building, I’m already unclipping my seatbelt before he even brakes.