Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Boone is suddenly there with us again, grabbing me in both arms and crushing me against his chest like he needs physical proof that I’m alive.
“Jesus, Roxie,” he whispers, breath shaky against my hair. “You can’t… don’t ever… God, you scared me.”
Dillon comes jogging down the stairs, his weapon still raised as he scans the room like he doesn’t trust the quiet. Finally, his shoulders sag and he lowers the gun, then his gaze zeroes in on Chance.
“You good?” he asks, though the measured calm in his voice says he isn’t worried because he already knows the answer.
“Yeah,” Chance mutters through clenched teeth. “It hurts like a bitch, but I’m not about to pass out.”
Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder with every passing second. Boone presses his face to my forehead. Dillon lets out a long exhale and leans heavily on the banister. Chance finally sinks down on the ruined couch, clutching his bleeding arm.
I just stand there, trembling in Boone’s arms, until the door crashes open not long after. Uniforms burst inside, spilling everywhere like ants poured out of a jar, their guns raised until Dillon calls out the all-clear.
Voices reach my ears and the sound of heavy footsteps, orders being shouted, EMT bags hitting the floor, but it’s all a blur. Behind them all, a woman in an FBI windbreaker strides into the living room and takes in the scene with one practiced, sweeping glance.
She pauses at the broken windows and the bodies, surveys at least two dozen bullet holes, then nods like she’s been expecting exactly this level of chaos.
“I’m Agent Sarah Mitchell,” she says briskly as she strides over, pulling a pair of gloves out of her pocket and snapping them on after shaking our hands. “Good news. We got Caruso. He landed two hours ago. SWAT picked him up with fifteen of his top associates before he even cleared baggage claim.”
Boone’s eyebrows arch. Chance frowns. Dillon grins like we’ve won the lottery, but Sarah continues, flipping open a tablet. “These guys you’ve got here were sent ahead before the main operation was due to commence. They’re facing federal charges. Attempted murder and conspiracy at the very least. It’s over, guys.”
Over.
The word hits me like a collapsing roof, but it isn’t over. Not as far as I’m concerned. She mentions everyone except one. “What about Tessa?” I ask. “Was she involved after all?”
Agent Mitchell nods, not softening in the least. “We’ve got her, too. She’ll be charged as an accessory, and we’ve got enough to convict. She won’t see freedom for a very long time.”
My knees buckle, but Boone catches me before I hit the floor. Sarah reaches out and squeezes my arm, sending me what I guess is supposed to be a comforting smile before she turns around and starts barking orders at her subordinates.
The next five minutes is a flutter of activity. Paramedics taking my blood pressure and shining a light in my eyes. I finally wave him away and tell him I’m not hurt.
“It’s a through-and-through,” the paramedic next to Chance adds. “You got lucky.”
It turns out Dillon has a few bruises, and Boone picked up a cut along his forearm he doesn’t even notice. Then, almost as quickly as they came, everyone leaves. Tape goes up, and Sarah tells us they’ll be back tomorrow. Then the house is quiet again.
A couple of uniformed officers remain behind, but I barely even notice them as I turn to survey the carnage. Glass glitters across the floors, and the couch is a shredded corpse.
Two bullet holes mark the doorway like punctuation marks to the worst sentence ever written. Boone sinks to the floor, and Dillon slides down the wall beside him, while Chance sits on the arm of the ruined couch, his bandaged arm resting in his lap.
He looks at me properly for the first time since the shooting stops, his voice ragged and a little hoarse. “You are never leaving my sight again.”
I let out a shaky, tired laugh. “Overprotective much?”
“Absolutely,” he replies without a single hint of apology. “Life is going to be boring from now on. I’m talking aggressively boring. Painfully boring, and I’m gonna love every minute of it.”
Dillon snorts. Boone laughs, and I sag down on the floor between them. Exhausted, aching, and still shaking, I let all three of them pull me in for a group hug.
We’re alive. The babies are safe. And the men I love survive a nightmare just to give us all the future we so desperately want.
“Boring sounds utterly fucking perfect to me,” I finally murmur, resting my head against Dillon’s shoulder while Chance wraps an arm around my waist. “Seriously. I can’t wait. What do you guys say we start living that way right now?”
31
BOONE
Idon’t even wait for the last cruiser to pull away. “We’re not staying here tonight.”