Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 213(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Chapter Seven
Cora
The compound gates loomed ahead like the entrance to hell itself. But now, instead of fearing what waited inside, I dreaded bringing danger through those gates myself. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling, no matter how tightly I gripped the steering wheel. Those devices Detective Reeves gave me sat heavy in my pocket, three tiny betrayals I’d been coerced into carrying. I blinked hard, trying to clear the burning in my eyes. Crying wouldn’t help. Nothing would help now except getting through the next hour without falling apart. So here I sat, red-eyed from crying and sick with guilt, driving straight back into the arms of people whose trust I was actively betraying.
I pulled up to the gate, my car’s engine sputtering as if it, too, were reluctant to enter. The guards waved me through and I went to my usual spot at the back of the main warehouse. Marcus stood alone outside the building, his broad frame silhouetted against the afternoon sun. Even from a distance, I could see the slight tension in his shoulders relax at the sight of my vehicle. He’d been waiting for me. That realization landed like a punch to my gut. Given everything that had happened with the detectives, it had completely slipped my mind to call him like usual. And I was late.
He approached as I parked, his pace measured and deliberate in that way that had once intimidated me but now felt like a steadying rhythm in my chaotic world. I took a shuddering breath, trying to compose myself before stepping out. The listening devices felt like an albatross in my jacket pocket, weighing me down.
“Cora.” Just my name, but the concern in his voice nearly broke me. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Rough night,” I managed, my voice sounded as raw as my insides felt. My throat tightened with fear. Dread sat in the pit of my stomach.
His silence stretched between us, a quiet demand I elaborate. I couldn’t possibly explain to him I’d been blackmailed and threatened into betraying him and the club. I busied myself with grabbing the first bags from my trunk, but Marcus gently moved me aside, lifting the heavier loads himself.
“You’ve been crying,” he murmured softly, observant in a way that made hiding impossible.
“Allergies,” I lied and immediately winced. I’d told Reeves the truth. I really couldn’t lie worth a damn.
The compound felt different today -- hostile, like it knew I was a traitor. The camo netting above swayed in the light breeze, casting moving shadows that seemed to follow me accusingly. The kitchen door swung open under Marcus’ gentle push. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh glare on the stainless-steel surfaces. Everything always looked so clean and tidy.
No one else loitered in the area. Just my fucking luck. Marcus didn’t like me to carry much inside, leaving me with nothing to do but wait. With no one here, I could put the one in the kitchen where they wanted me to without fear of getting caught. My whole entire being rebelled at the thought and I knew that, if I did this, not only would I be physically ill, but I’d never be able to look myself in the mirror again.
“Water?” Marcus’s voice startled me. He stood at the refrigerator, holding out a bottle.
I nodded, accepting it with a trembling hand. The cap wouldn’t budge under my weak attempt. Marcus gently took it back, twisted it open, and returned it without comment on my obvious distress. “Thank you,” I whispered, the simple kindness making my chest ache. I took a large gulp of the cool liquid, trying to settle myself.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his brow furrowing slightly. “Need to check something. Be right back.” He gave me a pointed look. “Stay here. Please.”
I nodded, my heart pounding. If I went through with this, it was now or never. As soon as the door swung shut behind him, I pulled out one of the small devices. It looked like a black thumbtack. I scanned the kitchen, panic rising as I searched for a spot they wouldn’t find it.
In my panic I dropped the tiny thing. I nearly sobbed in terror. What should I do now? I could leave it and hope it was good enough. Just as the thought entered my mind, the big, industrial refrigerator kicked on. Where the thumb tack rolled too far for me to retrieve. Served me right.
A wave of nausea hit me so suddenly I had to grip the edge of the counter to keep from doubling over. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead and upper lip, and my mouth filled with a metallic taste letting me know I was about to blow chunks.
I lunged for the sink, certain I’d be sick, but nothing came up. Just dry heaves and shuddering breaths that sounded dangerously close to sobs. Water. I needed more water, but not to drink. I fumbled for the faucet, turning on the cold water and splashing my face. This wasn’t right. These people had been nothing but good to me. And Marcus? How could I possibly do this to him? Especially to save myself. That made me the worst kind of person.