Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
“Like Disney World.”
“Alaska’s low-budget, soggy, fish-scented Disney World.” He huffs a laugh.
I laugh with him, but it breaks at the end. Because I can envision it, the wild man he was, shaking, overwhelmed, stepping into sunlight after a lifetime of darkness and meeting a new world that didn’t know his name or what he’d survived.
Lost in our thoughts, we lapse into a weird little hush that feels like a hallway between rooms.
Inside the cabin, Kody and Monty argue about how much lime juice constitutes too much.
Frankie returns to the railing with a drink in hand, one of Kody’s mint mocktails that he makes just for her.
“Your turn.” Wolf pulls me onto his lap, his mouth at my ear. “Give me something real. Doesn’t have to be big. Doesn’t have to be about pain. Just something you’re willing to share about your history with Jag.”
Funny how I haven’t heard from Jag in days, yet he manages to worm his way into most of our conversations.
I think of the lies I could tell Wolf, easy ones, but they taste rotten before they form. So I pick a small truth. An important one.
“Every time Jag uproots his life, he leaves me a message at our parents’ graves. He plants a flower or tree near their headstones, and under it, a rock with a code on it, usually the name of a city, a new phone number, or whatever. That’s how I knew he was here. A black willow, a sharpie rock, Sitka Tattoo.” I meet his eyes. “He assumed I’d never follow.”
“Yet you did.”
“I had no choice after I found out about his affair with Gavin. Following him was the only way to hate him properly.”
“Nothing drives that point home like a runaway bride with a rifle.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m fucking grateful your hate-trip led you to me.”
“Me, too.”
“Tomorrow…” He shifts beneath me, banding his arms around my waist. “I need to call Wilson and get an update on the investigation.”
His private investigator isn’t going to dig up a damn thing on Jag or the criminals he’s tied to. Jag erases trails better than the FBI, including whoever is now following me in Sitka. But I keep that to myself. Maybe the Strakh family has reach I don’t fully understand.
“Sounds like an exciting day,” I deadpan.
“I’ll feed you first. French toast, maybe. Or those stupid tiny pancakes you like.”
“I never said I like tiny pancakes.”
“You inhaled eight yesterday.”
“Coincidence.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Next question.” I relax against his chest. “Did you quit smoking?”
“Not that I remember.” He scratches his jaw. “I smoke when I have shit on my mind.”
“You haven’t had anything on your mind in five days?”
“Only good things.” He dips his head, brushing a smoky whisper against my throat. “Mostly filthy things.”
My face tingles with heat.
“Your cheeks just went pink,” he murmurs, delighted.
“Shut up.”
“My turn.” He bites my neck and moves to my ear. “What do you collect without meaning to?”
“People who irritate me.” I squeak when he nips a ticklish spot. “So far, that list is just you.”
“For that, I get to ask another.” He rests his chin on my shoulder. “What’s one thing you want?”
“Everything you’ve already given me.”
His breath releases with a purring rumble. “Something else.”
Soft music starts thrumming through the hidden speakers, and Frankie straightens at the railing. Her head snaps toward the cabin, green eyes sparkling.
Monty stands in the doorway, framed by sunlight, holding a drink to his lips, hiding a smirk. Frankie’s whole face softens. No, it glimmers. Cocking a hip, she crooks a finger at him in a silent summons.
Then she moves. God, she moves. A slow, swaying walk across the deck, hips rocking gently to the music like she’s answering an invitation only she can hear. Her fiery hair catches the breeze, her smile lazy and luminous, and for a heartbeat, she looks like a woman with no ghosts at her heels.
Monty meets her halfway, setting both drinks on the sideboard without breaking eye contact. He sweeps an arm around her waist, pulls her in, and spins her across the deck with a fluidity that doesn’t match his crisp, collared shirt.
Frankie’s head tips back, sunlight catching her freckles as she laughs. The sound floats over the water, mixes with the music, and settles in my chest with a swirly warmth I didn’t know I needed.
“Her,” I say, answering Wolf’s question.
“You want Frankie?” His head jerks back.
“For friendship, you gremlin.” I poke his ribs. “I’ve never had a loyal female friend. Definitely not one like her. She gives strong woman sass but also vulnerability. Protective, but at the same time, accepting and kind. I don’t have much experience with kindness. Most women judge me. Or use me. They all fuck my brother. I’m not normal.”
“Neither is Frankie. She doesn’t have experience with female companionship, either. Before she met my family, her closest friend was her boss.”