Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
The man steps out, and I follow, nothing but a pair of blood-spattered jeans to my name.
“I said you might not, but I’m good at my job.” He looks toward some dude who steps out onto the porch and nods his chin our way before rounding the car and meeting my eyes over the hood. “So when the time comes, and I’m proven right, you will.”
I swallow, not hating that idea.
“And if you’re wrong?” If I don’t thrive and I’m not ‘more’?
The man smiles like he can read my mind but knows something I don’t. “Then this is the last time you’ll see me, and I’ll be forced to find someone else for her.” The man lifts his hand, touching a large burn mark on the right side of his neck. “But I’m betting on you, Bass Bishop. You’re everything people in my world aren’t, and that makes you perfect for it.”
My eyes narrow, but when he finally looks back, he says nothing else, explains not a damn thing. The man just leans into the car, tossing me a white T-shirt and black leather jacket.
I catch the items against my chest, and he stares at me expectantly, so I tug the shirt on, followed by the jacket. No one has ever given me shit before, so I’m not sure what to say or think, especially since I like it. It’s something I think I’d pick out on my own if I had the chance, not that I could ever afford an inch of real leather like this.
When I look back up, the man dips his chin, slides into the seat, and pulls away.
I stand there, staring after the car until the headlights disappear, and then, with nothing left to do, I’m forced to put trust I can’t afford and don’t believe in into a man I’ve never met. A man I know I’ll never see again.
I walk into the fucking house.
Chapter 41
Rocklin
Present Time
“Fuck!”
I grit my teeth, dropping to the floor as the others begin pulling out the minimal weapons they have, though they’re not as panicky, remembering to keep calm and cool as they’re trained to do. Well, fuck that. I’m so sick of this shit!
I toss the rug from the floor quickly, pressing my palm to the sensor, and the lock clicks. I throw it open, digging inside for the emergency gun, and unlike my father’s car, mine isn’t empty. I lift the gun, and a manila folder comes with it, literally tied to its handle, and suddenly my mind flashes back to a few days ago.
Sai’s sorrowful yet reassuring gaze appears, and I drop back on my heel as his raspy voice rings in my mind.
“It’s okay,” he repeats yet again, his tone somehow managing to grow even gentler. “It’s time. My job is done now. My oath is complete. The safe. Everything he searches for is in the safe.” And then a ghost of a smile curves his lips as he says, “Tell him I won the bet and that I had no doubt.”
Tearing the envelope free, I let the gun fall. I open the folder and pour the contents out, letting them spill around my thighs. Instantly, my eyes lock onto a pair of crystal blues, only they’re younger, more haunted. Void.
His cheeks are littered with bruises, his body not yet covered in art but scars and angry red welts.
Bastian …
Why did Sai have this? Was he investigating him?
With shaky fingers, I pick it up, running my fingers over the fading image, noting the time stamp is dated from four years ago, and then I lift the next one and the next. It’s like one of those grade school collages, each image offering a slightly older version of the man I love, his jaw growing sharper from one to the next, a new tattoo or ten added in each one, fuller, more pronounced muscles. Brighter, less tortured eyes.
Hayze is in the background of many of these, but Bastian is the focus.
This isn’t a file someone dug up. This is a file someone has been building for years, and every image has Sai’s handwriting printed at the top. The date, time, and place are written on each.
Sai … he’s been following Bastian … for years.
Why?
I dig through the pile, my breath lodging in my throat when I find a photo I didn’t know existed. It’s … us.
Bastian and I, standing close, staring into one another’s eyes in the center of the gala.
Bastian looking all kinds of wrong, yet utterly irresistible in his borrowed black suit, and myself in my evening gown. My fingers are folded over his, my head tipped the slightest bit. I’m looking at him like he’s all that exists, and he stares back the same.
On the corner of this photo, Sai’s scribbled note reads: Fate stepped in. He found her on his own.