Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
“How?” She shakes her head. “I don’t understand, Owen.”
I sigh and run my hand through my hair.
"If your book gets out there, if you go back to that life… people are going to find you. People who don’t want you to be happy. Who don’t care if you’re safe. And instead of protecting you like I did tonight… I won’t be able to. And it will be my fault for leading you there.”
She swallows. "You mean Jake."
"I mean all of them." I take a deep breath. "I’ve spent years trying to find a way to get you out of that world. To bring you here. To keep you here. And now that I have you… I’m scared about what could happen.”
I sigh hard. I don’t find it easy to admit this.
She looks at me. No fear. No confusion. Just that soft, steady knowing in her eyes that always cuts me in two.
“I want to stay with you, Owen. No matter what.”
My throat tightens. "You don’t have to choose," I say, even though I want her to. Even though I want her to burn every bridge back to that world and stay here with me—innocent, brilliant, and mine.
"Don’t I?" Her voice is barely audible. "Because if I go out there, I know what I’ll find. The same cold hands and smiling knives. And if I stay…"
"You’ll have me."
Me, and every one of my goddamn enemies.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Emma
I stare at my phone. It’s so strange that Jake hasn’t called me, not since Owen got here. I check and find I do have at least one pathetic little bar of cell service.
Steam coils under the door, the hiss of water, steady and relentless. Owen’s in the shower, and I love it because it’s like watching him shed a skin. My Owen becomes someone else in there—boyish and carefree, like the weight of the world doesn’t press against those broad shoulders for once. His voice, deep baritone, rolls through the tiny bathroom walls, echoing, vibrating through the plaster like thunder caged in a box. And I smile.
I want to bottle that version of him and keep it… because it’s rare.
I’m sitting up in bed, laptop on my knees, the faint blue glow on my thighs. Then it hits me—this is the perfect chance to do what I’ve been dying to: a little snooping. A little digging into the mystery he refuses to name.
Every time I ask about his job, he dodges. Deflects. His jaw sets, and his voice turns flat. He says being near him puts me in danger. He says he does illegal shit and doesn’t even sugarcoat it. And I believe him.
This isn’t new. It’s always been there since I’ve known him, even when we were kids under the same roof. My mom, his dad. The awkward blended family nobody asked for. Back then, Owen always had cash, more than the other boys. There would be new sneakers and crisp bills folded in his pocket. He told me he worked at a mechanic’s. He told me he mowed lawns. He told me a thousand little lies with that easy grin. But I watched him. I saw him down on Main, leaning against the brick wall outside the coffee shop, talking to older men who passed him packages too small to be sandwiches. Too quick to be innocent.
I hated it. I hated the secrecy. But his father didn’t care. My mother didn’t notice. And me? I wasn’t about to be the little sister who ratted him out. Still, I knew… something was wrong.
And now… the proof is right there, a beat-up little laptop practically begging to be cracked open, sitting careless and dented on the kitchen table.
I push off the bed and cross the floor quiet as a thief. My fingers curl over the lid, clicking it open.
“What are you doing?”
His voice slams into me, deep and raw, booming through the room like a gunshot.
I spin. Jesus Christ. I thought I had at least fifteen minutes. But there he is already. A towel slung low on his hips, damp and dangerous. His skin flushed, slick with beads of water trailing over his chest, down his arms. His hair darkened, dripping. And those eyes—those fucking eyes—narrowed on me in that way that makes my pulse race.
“Why are you on my laptop, Emma?”
My throat locks. I snap the lid shut, my hands trembling just enough for me to notice. His gaze cuts me open.
I go for the truth, the only weapon sharp enough. “Because I don’t like that you’re lying to me.”
His brows draw together, shadowing his face. His brogue thickens, a growl. “When did I fucking lie to you, lass? I’m not lying to you. Even if I were, that doesn’t give you the right to snoop on my damn laptop.”
My heart pounds, but I don’t back down. “If you have nothing to hide…”