Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I should be furious with my father. How did I not know what he really did for a living? Did he lie to me? Not exactly—I just assumed all that talk about “consulting” and “helping people with complicated situations” meant finance or something equally boring. Dad work. The kind of stuff that made my vision glaze over when he’d mention it over Sunday pancakes.
It’s not like I asked a lot of questions. I was a teenager focused on school and friend drama. I figured it was spreadsheets and meetings, not whatever the hell the Crow are or places like Crowshaven or friends named Blue who do whatever it is Blue does.
How could I have missed all of this? How did I live twenty-three years thinking my dad was just some middle-aged guy with a nine to five, when apparently he had an entire shadow life I never even suspected existed?
I guess boring dad work was never as boring as I thought.
I’m lurking outside the dining room at 7 a.m., watching Blue through the doorway as he performs what’s clearly a morning ritual. He’s traded yesterday’s funeral suit for a charcoal sweater that fits like it was made for him, paired with dark slacks that probably never wrinkle. His hair is damp from a shower, combed back but already starting to curl at the edges, and that blue-tinted beard frames a mustache with deliberate rockabilly curls at the ends that somehow make him look both vintage and untouchable.
He sits alone at a table built for entertaining, reading his newspaper . . . an actual newspaper. His coffee cup is so delicate I’m surprised it doesn’t dissolve when he touches it. Even his toast has been cut into perfect triangles and arranged with a care most people reserve for surgery.
The man makes breakfast look uptight but sexy.
I’m still wearing yesterday’s green dress because putting on the clothes the Crow stole from my apartment feels like surrender. The emerald fabric clings uncomfortably after a night of restless sleep, my hair has taken on a life of its own, and I’m about to walk into that dining room and ruin his perfect morning.
I walk through the doorway, my footsteps loud against the marble. “Morning.”
Blue’s newspaper crinkles as he looks up, and for half a second his composure slips. He wasn’t expecting me. Or maybe he wasn’t expecting me to look like a hot mess. But either way . . . Good.
“Saylor.” He starts to stand, then thinks better of it. “You’re awake early.”
“Funny thing about being kidnapped—it messes with your sleep schedule.” I drop into the chair across from him without waiting for permission, getting my first real look at the dining room in daylight.
It’s completely different from last night’s candlelit atmosphere. Morning sun streams through tall windows, illuminating walls lined with oil paintings of stern-faced people who probably owned this place generations ago. The table for twenty where we had dinner last night looks even more imposing in daylight, its dark wood surface polished to mirror brightness. Crystal glasses sparkle from an enormous chandelier overhead, and everything feels formal in a way that makes me glad I’m still in my wrinkled green dress instead of trying to live up to this level of elegance.
Wren materializes beside me with coffee and a place setting. The woman must have supernatural hearing. She pours from a silver service, the coffee so dark it’s almost black and smelling like it could resurrect the dead. When I take my first sip, it fuels my system like liquid electricity. The coffee hits my bloodstream immediately, which is the first decent thing that’s happened since I woke up.
“We need to talk,” I say, setting down my cup with more force than necessary.
Blue folds his newspaper deliberately. “About?”
“About you teaching me how to kill people.”
Blue pauses with his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “Before coffee? Really?”
“You said you’d think about it. I want an answer.”
He takes a deliberate sip and sets down his cup. “I did think about it.”
“And?”
“And I think you’re serious about this, which is either impressive or terrifying.”
“Both, hopefully.” I lean forward, excitement building in my chest. “So? Will you teach me?”
Blue runs a hand through his hair, messing up that perfect styling. “You think you want revenge, but you don’t understand what it actually costs—”
“I understand perfectly.” I point my coffee cup at him. “I understand that the Crow killed my father and got away with it. I understand that they kidnapped me and were planning to torture me before you showed up. And I understand that you’re the only person I’ve ever met who might actually be able to help me do something about it.”
Blue goes quiet for a long moment, studying my face like he’s looking for something. “You really think this is what you want?”