Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
I reach for my phone and dial Alana back. She answers on the first ring. "How far are you?"
"Two hours, maybe less if traffic cooperates," I say. "Is she okay?"
“She’s okay. She’s just worried.”
“Put her on the phone.” I need to hear her voice.
There’s a muffled exchange, a moment of hesitation, and then a voice that makes my heart stutter in a way no engine ever could. "Diesel?"
Fuck. Her voice cuts right through me. It’s soft. It’s shaky. It’s everything I don't want it to be. I want her sassy. I want her telling me I’m being overprotective and that she can handle it. I want the fire. The version of Serenity that sounds like she’s about to break is a knife to the gut.
"I'm on my way, sweetness," I say, the endearment slipping out before I can catch it. I don't take it back.
"I can’t believe this jerk," she whispers, and I can hear the tears she’s trying not to shed. "He left a note under the door. He said he knows what color my pajamas were last night. I want to kick his ass into next week."
That’s my girl. I grip the steering wheel until I hear the leather groan. "How about if I hold his ass down and you can kick away?"
"Sounds like a plan to me." She snorts, and my heart settles a little bit.
"Good. Put my pain-in-the-ass sister back on the phone.” There’s a shuffle in the background.
“Did you just call me a pita?” My sister sounds more like herself, too.
"Get the Glock out and don’t hesitate to light his ass up if he tries to get in. I’ll be there soon."
"Okay," my sister tells me. "Please be careful. It’s raining here. The roads are slick."
"The roads aren't a problem," I say, and I mean it. Gravity and friction are nothing compared to the momentum of my need to get to Serenity. "I’ll be there soon."
I hang up and floor it. The SUV surges forward, a black blur against the darkening desert. I’ve spent years keeping my distance, telling myself Serenity deserved someone better, someone cleaner, someone who didn't have grease under his fingernails and a serpent on his back. I told myself I was doing the right thing by staying away.
I was wrong. The right thing is being there to stand between her and the monsters of the world. The right thing is taking her back to Vegas, where I can keep her safe. I don't fucking care if I’m crossing a line.
The city of San Bernardino appears in the distance, a sprawling carpet of gold and white. I navigate the curvy road with a precision born of a thousand rides, my eyes scanning the road but my mind already in that apartment in Westwood. I can almost smell her. Vanilla and something bright, like citrus, that always seems to linger on her skin. It's the scent that's haunted my dreams for three years.
I think about the house in Vegas. It’s modern, cold, and far too big for a man who spends most of his time in a garage or a clubhouse. I bought it because it was a good investment, because it was a sign of success, but it’s never felt like a home. It’s just a collection of expensive furniture and empty rooms. But as I drive, I start to imagine her in it. Her books on the coffee table. Her scent in the hallway. Her laughter echoing off the high ceilings.
It’s a dangerous fantasy. It’s the kind of thinking that gets a man into trouble, especially when the girl in question is off-limits. But as the rain starts to smear across my windshield, matching the rhythm of my pulse, I realize I don't care about the trouble anymore. I’ve spent my whole life being the protector, the anchor, the one who holds things together. It’s time I started protecting what actually matters most to me.
The miles tick by, marked by the green signs of the 405. The traffic is heavy, a sluggish river of brake lights and frustration, but I weave through it with a ruthless efficiency that earns me a dozen honks.
By the time I pull onto the familiar streets of Westwood, the rain is coming down in a steady, gray sheet. The palm trees look bedraggled, their fronds drooping under the weight of the water. I find their bland, stucco apartment building and park in the guest lot.
The silence that follows is absolute, broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine. I sit there for a second, my hands still gripping the wheel, my heart hammering against my ribs. The overwhelming weight of what I’m about to do cuts through me. I’m about to step into her life in a way I can never step back from. I’m about to take her from this world and bring her into mine.