Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Her jaw clenches. “Mr. Donovan is a respectable businessman who sees potential in my work. Something you wouldn't understand.”
Beast moves past us toward the kitchen without a word. Smart man.
“Let me guess, he wants another meeting?” I watch her closely, the way her fingers fidget with the edge of her shirt. “Too bad you'll miss it.”
“What are you talking about?” Her eyes narrow.
“We're heading home tomorrow. Early.” I say it casual, like I'm commenting on the weather. “And you’re coming.”
colour drains from her face before flooding back with twice the intensity. “Absolutely fucking not!”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Wasn't asking.”
“I have a business to run. I have meetings. I have a life that doesn't revolve around whatever the hell you think you're doing.” She's breathing hard, chest rising and falling. It triggers flashbacks of her tits against me, her mouth parting as I sunk myself inside of her.
“Your meeting can wait.” My tongue flicks over my lip. “Your life can't if you're dead.”
That stops her. “What?”
“The explosion wasn't random,” I explain, keeping my voice even. “And it wasn't club business. It was personal, aimed at Zane.”
Fight ignites further behind her green eyes. “So what does that have to do with me?”
“Nothing. And that's the problem. You're going to get caught in the crosshairs of their drama.” I stand, closing the distance between us. “You think Zane and Blake will drop everything to protect you when shit gets worse? You think your little baker boy will?”
She steps back. “Peter would...”
“Peter would get himself killed trying,” I cut her off. “And you know it.”
Something flickers in her eyes. Recognition, maybe. Fear. She knows I'm right but she's too stubborn to admit it.
“Two weeks,” I say. “By then, whatever bullshit is going on here won't land back on you and it releases the stress from Zane to have another body to watch. Then you can come back to your fancy investor and your killer cupcakes.”
She glares at me, her jaw working. “I hate you.”
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. “I know.”
Auckland is a shitshow this time of morning. It's all traffic and chaos. None of that matters though. It's what sits behind the bright lights.
Melissa’s car sits between me and Beast. If the little death glares weren’t enough to give away the level of hatred she’s throwing at me right now, then the fact that she’s been engine braking and sometimes all the way braking on purpose the whole way here would.
Crazy bitch.
Breaking off from the motorway, we leave the chaos behind. The roads stretch wider, buildings falling away until there's nothing but green mountains. I fucking love it. Love everything about this town as we fly through the small strips of Dairies and local butchers. The main event is the Lake though, dropped right in the center of town. They built the whole fucking thing around it.
Fuck yeah. We're home.
Miles of empty mountains that belong to us, marked by the occasional cattle skull or rusted car frame. Warning signs for those who know how to read them.
The compound comes into view, an old farmhouse sitting proud against the backdrop of mountains. A chain-link fence topped with razor wire circles the property, more about keeping people out than keeping us in.
Melissa’s car slows as it approaches the gate. I pull up beside them, catching Melissa's profile through the window.
She's mid-fixing her lipstick or whatever shit that's on them in the mirror. When she notices me, she slaps the mirror back into place and flips me off.
Fuck me. The girl knows how to hold a grudge.
Beast punches in the gate code, and the heavy metal barrier groans open. The girls park their car near the front steps while we circle around to the garage. Gravel kicks up under our tires, coating everything.
Arching over us, the farmhouse is all weathered wood and peeling paint that tell stories of decades in the sun. But it's home. More home than anywhere else I've been. Equipped with seven bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a basement that's seen more shit than it hasn't, the farmhouse isn't even what people should be worried about. It's the industrial warehouse behind it.
Melissa steps out, one tanned leg and Chuck Taylor.
I take a step forward, my thumb hovering over the screen mid-text to Jada, updating her on the ride back from the coast. But then Melissa swings her other leg out of the car, fully revealing those tiny ripped denim shorts that hug her curves, and that flirty yellow top with its flowery pattern dips low enough to tease way too much cleavage for a place like this. Fuck, it's like she's dressed to start a war. Or maybe just to piss me off specifically.
I kill my phone after sending it, shoving it into my pocket as irritation gnaws at my brain.