Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“Gainz call you yet?”
I glance at the woods again, tension pulling at my spine. “Not yet.”
“Well, hear this,” Chux shares, voice dropping. “He found skid marks near the crash site. Not her car. Too wide, like a truck. And they circle around. Unique pattern to the tires. Got a call in to see what kind of tire it is and narrow some shit from that. The fuckers hit her and came back around to hit her again.”
My jaw clenches. “She was the target.”
“Looks like it.” A pause. “And the tire tread matches the truck from the gas station according to Nitro and some software he ran pics through.”
I feel my pulse spike, anger flaring hot in my chest. “They followed her.”
“Yeah.”
The rage builds. “They rammed her.”
“Yeah.”
“They were trying to kill her.”
“We’re working on the assumption, Riot. Not the certainty.”
“Bullshit,” I snap. “This is deliberate. You don’t take two hits at that angle by accident.”
Chux sighs. “I know. But we play it smart. Nitro’s working the cams. Looney’s cross-checking old enemies and new ones. We’ll have something.”
“Not fast enough.”
He’s quiet for a heartbeat. “We’ll make it fast as we can,” Chux speaks finally. “But don’t do anything stupid and don’t do that shit without a brother at your back.”
I hang up and pocket my phone.
Mellow eyes me. “That Chux?”
“Yeah.”
“Good news?”
“No.”
Shaft cracks his neck. “Great.” His face turns sinister. “Shit makes me twitchy. Homicide vibes.”
I ignore him and scan the tree line again. “Take first watch. Switch in four hours.”
Shaft nods and heads to the blind on the right side of the yard.
Mellow lingers. “You wanna talk about your lady friend in there?”
“She’s not my—” He cuts me off with his smirk.
“Brother. Riot. Buddy. Compadre.” He widens his eyes dramatically. “My man. She asked you not to leave her after meeting you for the first time all over again. That’s not casual hookup energy. That’s some fate shit.”
“Get off my porch.”
Shaking his head he doesn’t press me further. Instead, he salutes and strolls toward the driveway.
I blow out a long breath and brace my palms against the railing.
The trees sway gently in the wind. Birds chirp. Nothing out of place. And yet I can feel it, the edge crawling under my skin.
Someone followed her.
Someone rammed her.
Someone stood outside the cabin five minutes ago, watching.
This isn’t random.
This isn’t opportunistic.
This is targeted.
Cold fury rolls through me. If I ever get my hands on the son of a bitch who put fear in her eyes… I’ll make sure he never sees daylight again.
When I step back inside, Kelly is sitting up in bed, pulling the blankets tighter around her. Her curls spill over the pillow in messy waves, her brow furrowed in a way that makes something deep in my chest clench.
She looks soft.
Tired.
Scared and brave as hell all in one.
Her eyes lift when I enter.
I didn’t realize how much I needed that simple gesture, her looking for me first.
“Everything okay?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just brothers checking the perimeter.”
She nods but doesn’t believe me. Smart girl. “I heard something,” she shares, fingers twisting the blanket. “Footsteps?”
“Nothing you need to worry about. My brothers will be on the outside. You’ll hear them hit the porch off this room and the front porch when you’re in the living room. Not a big place and they’re gonna be close without being in your face.”
Her gaze drops. “Everything feels like something I should worry about.”
I sit in the chair beside her bed, leaning forward. “You’re safe here.”
She studies my face for a long time, chewing lightly on her lower lip. That used to drive me insane in the best kinds of ways.
Now it just makes my chest ache.
“How do you know?” she asks softly.
“Because I’m here.”
The words come out too fast, too raw. Her breath catches, her fingers tightening on the fabric.
My throat goes tight. I shouldn’t have said it like that. I shouldn’t let things that feel like promises slip through my teeth. Not when I’ve already failed her once.
Her head tilts. “I don’t remember you, but I feel like I should.”
“It’ll come,” I say, hoping I sound surer than I feel. “One piece at a time.”
“What if it doesn’t?” she whispers.
“It will.”
She swallows, eyes glimmering. “You seem certain.”
“I am.”
She breathes slowly, nodding, grounding herself in my certainty because she doesn’t have any of her own.
“You should eat,” I say. “Hospital food was crap.”
Her lips twitch. “You don’t know what I ate.”
“You told the nurse you barely touched it.”
She blinks. “I did?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t remember.” She looks frustrated by that. Her head injury is unique in that even moments in the hospital come and go. Her short term memory is a fuddled mess.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You don’t have to.”
She nods again, slowly.
I run a hand over my jaw and stand. “Come on.”
She looks confused. “Where?”