Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“I’ll be okay.” I say it more for myself than for him. “Honestly, I’m not even that far from you guys. It’ll be fine. Besides, I can’t stay here tonight.”
“Why not?”
“There’s no freaking bed.”
He hesitates, looking around the room, and bursts out laughing. His laughter brings mine back and I crack up along with him. We lean on each other, hugging again, before Annie appears in the doorway with a deep frown.
“What the heck is so funny.”
“There’s no bed!” Davit howls with laughter.
Annie rolls her eyes. “God you two are so weird sometimes. The movers are here. When you’re done freaking out, come help direct them please.”
CHAPTER 11
BRENDEN
Sunset throws long pinks across a semi-cloudy sky. I haven’t moved in a half hour. My legs are sore from crouching. My feet are deeply asleep.
The door hasn’t changed.
It’s not going to.
Strange. I’ve cased a thousand targets in my career, but this is the first one I could walk straight into without any issues. I have the damn spare key in my pocket already.
No sneaking, no skulking, no climbing or picking or breaking.
My own house. And inside it—
I close my eyes and stand, rubbing my lower back.
We got married three days ago. Since then I’ve tried very hard not to think about her. Talin Sarkissian, now Talin McGrath, my wife. Bane of my god damn existence. Her naked chest in my hand, her nipples stiff, her tits spilling over my palm, her hips grinding my thigh, and at first I thought she was playing along until I broke off the kiss and she gasped and tugged at me like she wanted me to keep going.
The needy look she gave me, her mouth hanging open—
The fucking photograph she took.
Anger flickers again for the thousandth time. I keep waiting for Arsen or Cormac or Alexan Sarkissian to show up at my apartment door with a silenced pistol and a copy of that damning image. Hasn’t happened though, which means my wife doesn’t want me murdered.
Not yet, anyway.
The fucked thing is, I could steal it back. Even if she emailed it to herself, I could make sure it got deleted. Alan Way’s my hardware guy, but I have guys for a thousand other illicit tasks, and many of them are highly competent.
If I wanted Tallie’s email hacked, all her data destroyed, her entire online existence torched, I could make it happen.
Instead, I’m letting her keep that sword above my head.
Why? For fucking what purpose?
She could ruin me—but I don’t want to ruin her in return.
It’s all so fucked as I trudge up the stairs to my house. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. She won’t be happy to see me. I’ve been acting like she doesn’t exist for days now, but it’s time to face reality. This is where I’m supposed to be, and if I want to appear at least somewhat normal, I’d better show my face.
Good, that’s a solid excuse. I can keep telling myself this is all for my cover. Play along, lay low, stick to the plan. Hide in plain sight.
I’m not coming home because I actually want to see her.
No, that can’t be it.
“Tallie? You here?” I step inside. It smells like cinnamon and apples. There’s an end table, a mirror on the wall, art hanging along the steps. Nice art too, not cheap, tacky Home Goods stuff. “Hello? Talin?”
I drift deeper into the house. My fucking god, in three days, my wife managed to transform a hole of a building into what looks like an actual livable space. The kitchen has plates and bowls in the cabinets, forks and knives in the drawers, and a loaf of freshly-sliced quick bread is lying on a cutting board. I pick up a piece. It’s delicious.
“What do you think?” Tallie’s sitting on a couch in the living room watching me over the back, one arm draped lazily down the side. Her dark hair’s pulled back, her deep red lips soft and calm. I expected yelling. I didn’t think there’d be food.
“It’s really good.” I eat another piece. “Your recipe?”
“Found it online. Figured it’d be a nice way to break in the kitchen.”
“You did all this?” I move over to a table. It’s big, circular, and looks very expensive.
“Who else?”
“I assume your sister had a hand in it.”
That gets me the ghost of a smile, which I love. “Annie was willing to help.”
“It’s nice,” I tell her and I really mean it.
“Welcome home.” She goes back to looking at her phone. “Feel free to move your stuff in. I left space in the closet.”
This is worse than I expected.
I was prepared for yelling. I figured there’d be a thrown shoe or two, maybe some tears, maybe a few punches. A part of me wants her to be upset I’ve avoided her for three days. That would at least show she noticed and cared.