Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
I watch as Scott's mind works, relief easing a little of the tension in my shoulders when he smiles, fully accepting what we've told him.
"Well, you won't have to worry about that shit any longer," Scott says, and the tone of his voice makes me stiffen once again.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I attempt to calculate the time it would take to get back to my room to get my gun before he can pull one himself and kill us both.
"Pack your shit. Bobby wants you home before the sun comes up."
I tilt my head to the side. His words are not something I expect, and that's when the guilt I wasn't feeling earlier hits me in the chest.
As awful as this shitty house is, I somehow managed to see it as home, a safe place where I can be who I am without worry of fear or consequences. The safety I let myself believe in here is fake, something I conjured in my mind, not something that ever really existed. We're on a job, and our behavior has the potential to not only compromise our mission, but it also has the power to get us killed.
I should fucking know better, and yet I let my need for Zayne cloud my judgment and actions.
"Perfect," Zayne responds, with an almost believable excitement in his voice. "If you could—"
Scott holds his hands up before taking a step back. "Not a fucking chance."
In the next breath, the man is out the front door and gone, the silent room he left behind feeling half as small as it actually is.
"This is fucking perfect," Zayne says as he turns to face me.
I open my mouth to argue, but he points to the ceiling. I didn't need the reminder earlier tonight, but I'm grateful for it now.
I clamp my lips closed as I shake my head in irritation in his direction.
"Thankfully, we haven't had time to unpack all that shit in the closet," he says as he walks closer.
He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder, a frown on his handsome face when he sees me flinch, knowing full well it's his touch that’s causing the reaction and not the situation we're in.
He dips his head in understanding as if it's something he fully expected of me all along, but before I can grab his hand and drag him somewhere I can talk freely without fear of being overheard, he's already walking away.
Guilt from someplace deeper inside of me bubbles up, but we have a goal, and we can't let our emotions or our history get in the way of that. I guess I can only hope that he'll be open to listening when I have the chance to speak with him after all of this shit is over.
Sadly, it only takes me ten minutes to pack my room. I do my best not to let the knowledge that I could be ready to uproot my life back at the Cerberus cabin in just as little time get too deep into my head.
I've never even considered putting down roots. I'm always too quick to run from any complication that may arise in my life. I can't help but wonder if I've put myself in a position that I'm going to have to do exactly that when this case is over because of the choices I've made, and for the first time in my life, thinking about hitting the road and leaving Cerberus behind causes a twinge of pain right in the center of my chest. What I can't let get too deep in my head is knowing full well that it's walking away from Zayne again that makes me second-guess my next move.
Way to fucking complicate your life, asshole.
"This may cause problems for you," Zayne says when I walk out of the bedroom, duffel bag strap in my grip.
"How so?" I ask, not following where he's trying to lead me.
"What did your court case manager say about where you live?" he asks, playing his role of Curtis Allen perfectly.
"I can file for a change of address," I mutter, not wanting to play this game, but also knowing that if Casper is listening, this is our way of letting them know where we're going if the conversation with Scott earlier wasn't clear enough.
"And you think they're just going to be okay with you saying you're living at the wrecking yard?"
I pull in a deep breath, frustration over this entire fucking situation eating away at me. We aren't supposed to be packing and getting ready to enter the lion's den. We were supposed to come down from our respective orgasm highs with a bowl of cereal before climbing into bed, hopefully together, before getting some much-needed sleep. At least that's how I thought the rest of the night would go.