Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
"You're going to dehydrate," Bandera mutters as he climbs on the machine next to mine and starts a quick walk.
I don't bother to respond to the guy. I don't need health advice from any of the guys here. They already have an unlimited amount of opinions about my food intake.
After a few minutes, Bandera ramps up the speed on his treadmill, and despite the silence other than our feet pounding on the machines, I can feel the tension rolling off him.
"What?" I growl when he darts his eyes in my direction for the third time.
"Is there a reason you're acting so aggressive right now?"
"Is there a reason you have something to say and are remaining silent?" I challenge, not bothering to look in his direction.
The mirrored wall opposite the treadmills gives me the opportunity to glare at his reflection.
He pushes the button on his treadmill to slow it down, but I keep mine at full speed. I work out enough I could probably run all day and not get too winded, but the effort it's taking not to get completely annoyed with him is starting to drag me down some.
When his machine fully stops, I watch in the mirror as he turns to face me.
"Has Kincaid said anything about the patch?"
I feign confusion.
"What patch?"
"The presidential patch."
"Kincaid has a presidential patch," I mutter, doing my best not to grin when he huffs in irritation.
If I'm going to be in a shit mood, then I might as well bring him right along with me.
"For Vegas," he snaps.
I shake my head, eyes still locked in front of me. "I haven't heard anything."
"Do you think..."
I watch his reflection as he shakes his head, and my eyes narrow.
"Do I think what?"
"That maybe you could listen a little harder?"
I nearly stumble again, and this time, I have to hit the emergency stop button on my machine to keep from face-planting.
I grab my towel and swipe it over my face, glaring at him the second my eyes are no longer blocked.
"Are you fucking asking what I think you're asking?"
At least he has the wherewithal to look a little chastised as his eyes drop to his sneakers.
"What do you think I'm asking?"
This motherfucker...
"You want me to violate New Mexico's privacy to see if they're trying to decide on who should be president."
"I wasn't—"
"I think you were, and if I'm right, do you really think you deserve it?"
His jaw flexes.
I know Bandera isn't a bad guy. He's very goal-oriented. He wants to be a leader, but being sneaky like a child unwrapping Christmas presents a week before the big day isn't the way to go about it. Not to mention the hit to his integrity.
"Forget I said anything," he grumbles as he steps off the treadmill and makes his way out of the room.
Just when I think I'm going to get a reprieve, Twisted catches the door before it can close all the way. And fuck me if Morgan isn't right there with him.
I don't know what would make this situation worse—if I walked out just as they arrived or if I stuck around?
One makes me look like an asshole, and the other one makes me one.
Something about her keeps me locked in place for a few moments as her eyes assess the room.
"Hey, man," Twisted says, his hand dropping to her lower back as she freezes at the sight of me.
I can't fully decipher the emotions on her face, but I see more curiosity than fear.
"Good morning, Morgan. How are you?"
"I'm good," she says, her eyes darting to the floor.
The submissive response does nothing for the fucking urges I've been battling on this damn treadmill all morning.
"Were you leaving?" Twisted asks, and I can see the annoyance in his eyes as if I have some nerve to even speak to her in the first place.
I don't have any idea what has happened between the two of them or if he's interested in her and sees me as a threat, but his words hit me exactly the wrong way.
"Just taking a little breather," I say before turning back around and restarting the machine.
I watch in the mirror as he dips his head and speaks to her in hushed tones.
She responds, but with the machine going and my feet pounding on it, I can't hear their conversation.
I watch as her eyes lift in my direction for a second, her head shaking slightly as she speaks.
I don't know if staying here is good for her or if my resemblance to Henry makes her uncomfortable. Making her feel anything other than welcome here is the last thing I want to do.
Asking her what she wants seems a little forward, and I'm afraid she'd placate me so as not to make me feel uncomfortable. So I opt to just watch her, letting my eyes drift to the television and back to her reflection when I can sense she isn't watching me.