Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
But what kind of eye did the man have to have on the pulse to know that my family had shown up here?
That thought stuck with me the rest of the night.
And when the coffee came around three in the morning, I couldn’t help but send him a text message in thanks.
Me:
I don’t know what kind of stalkerish tendencies you have, but my belly likes them. Next time, get me a pumpkin muffin to go with it.
Finnian didn’t reply.
But the pumpkin muffin came when the end of my shift hit.
It was sitting on the dash of my car, and I had to wonder who it was that’d delivered it, and how they’d gotten into my truck without messing anything up.
I called him the moment my butt hit my seat and the truck was started.
“Hey,” he drawled, sounding sleepy.
“Did you ever go to sleep last night?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he admitted. “I figured if I got it done fast, I could come home fast.” He hesitated. “I want to run something by you when I get home.”
I sighed. “Thanks for the muffin.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured. “I had a locksmith open it up. You need a new car, babe.”
I thought about the mountain of debt I had and cringed. “I know. But I don’t have the credit limit to allow for it.”
“Hmmmm,” he hummed. “Anyway, about what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I kind of figured that would be something that you would talk to me about when you got home, not over an unsecure line,” I teased.
He chuckled. “I don’t do anything half-ass, Silla. You know that.”
Meaning, the line was well secure, and I didn’t need to worry about what we were about to talk about.
“Okay,” I said as I put my phone in the holder and started out of the lot.
I waved at a few nurses who were waiting to cross the street, and only started going again once they were safely past.
“I wanted to talk to you about…”
He trailed off when there was honking on my end. “What’s going on?”
I looked around to see the chaos in the street. “A protest. Blocking the street.”
“What are they protesting?” he wondered.
I looked around to read the signs as I came to a stop, exhaustion weighing me down. “Um, it looks like a protest about the city of Dallas being assholes and not letting food trucks park on a corner where they are.”
“Interesting,” he said. “Take a left here.”
I didn’t question him and his stalkery ways, I just took a left and started driving slowly down a back alley.
“When you get to the T in the road, take a right.”
I did, my eyes widening as I said, “This is getting pretty narrow.”
“Keep going. It widens out after the dumpster.”
He was right, it widened out after the dumpster that was so full it was spilling over.
“Hang a left, and then an immediate right, and you’ll be on the road you need,” he said.
He was right.
A few minutes later, I was back on the road heading toward home.
“Thanks,” I breathed. “I’m tired.”
“Eat your muffin and listen.”
I unwrapped my muffin and started to eat it as I listened to him talk.
“Okay, so don’t interrupt.”
I didn’t, causing him to say, “Hello?”
“You told me not to interrupt,” I teased, spraying pumpkin muffin on my steering wheel.
I wiped it off with my hand as he sighed. “Anyway, I think I’m going to break your brother out of prison.”
There was a long moment of silence on my end and then, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“No interrupting,” he reminded me.
I closed my mouth, chewing through a muffin that now tasted like ash in my throat.
That didn’t stop me from taking another bite, however.
“I’ve been looking into his case, and I think that he was robbed,” he said. “I know that there should’ve been several other reasons that he shouldn’t have had to serve a lifetime sentence, but it’s looking like the justice system is keeping him there for another reason.”
I didn’t know if I was supposed to say “what reason would that be?” or not, so I kept my mouth chewing, even though I barely tasted the food.
“Did you know that your brother was part of The Seven?”
I didn’t know what “The Seven” was, so of course I didn’t know what that was.
“I know you didn’t.” He laughed. “Anyway, so your brother is part of The Seven. It’s an organization. Not a crime family, per se, but a sort of hierarchy of men that kind of, sort of, run the area.”
“My brother is someone who would run an area?” I asked.
“Have you heard of Sascha Semyonov?”
My belly clenched as I pulled onto the highway. “Yes.”
Everyone had heard of him.
He was a badass.
A criminal one, but still a badass.
I wouldn’t want to get anywhere near the man, even if he did seem somewhat friendly.