Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“Will do.” He looks into the room, his lips drawn in a thin line. “How is she?”
“Pretty damn lucky. Heavy bruising to her left side.” Which means, as she said, she was walking away from the side of the street the apartment she viewed sits on. If she’d been walking toward the building, they would have struck her on her right. “When I talked to the doctor, he said the car couldn’t have done more than clipped her in passing.”
“I’ll start making those calls.”
I grip his arm before he can walk away, when another idea occurs to me.
Calls. She called me. Not her father. I can’t put into words how gratifying that is, so I won’t bother trying.
But thinking of him gets me thinking about the future and what a pain in the ass he could end up being if I don’t cut him off. “I want you to call your contact down at headquarters. Whoever you trust the most. If she spoke to the police, they filed a report. I want that report stricken from the record.”
When he frowns, I add, “Her father.”
Understanding dawns on his face before he gives me a tight nod and heads for the exit, raising his phone to his ear. The last thing I need is a detective with a personal stake in the matter, finding out and blowing it all up. It would create too many problems. Complications I can’t afford.
Not to mention I need to get my hands on whoever did this. I’m not going through law enforcement, the so-called legal way. I won’t risk somebody getting off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist.
They almost took her from me and had the audacity to drive away.
No. A plea deal isn’t enough. They’re going to pay in blood for what they’ve done.
Staring at the small, fragile body in the bed, it’s clear even that won’t be enough. I can’t risk this happening again. I’ll have to install a tracking app on her phone. At the very least, for her protection.
And if it means being able to tell where she is at all times, even better.
I made the mistake of giving my little bird too much room to fly.
I won’t exactly clip her wings, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let her fly free, either.
BIANCA
What day is it?
That’s the first question that comes to mind when I open my eyes, but then it usually is. It’s bad enough when I take a nap in the middle of the afternoon and wake up without the slightest clue of what time or day it is. Adding painkillers to the mix makes it impossible to keep track of time.
When I check my phone, the date reflects back at me like a neon sign. Four days. It’s been four days since the car hit me. Four days of in and out of consciousness while random shows play on the big TV mounted on the wall across from the foot of the bed.
Sometimes, I wake up, and it’s night, and Callum is next to me. All it takes is a soft grunt or a sigh, and he’s beside me, asking if I’m okay, if I need anything, or if he can make me more comfortable. He can’t be sleeping well. I warned him last night that if he doesn’t start sleeping for real, he’ll end up in the hospital.
Just thinking about waking up with a bright light shining in my eyes and the paramedics loading me onto a gurney turns my stomach. Nobody could tell me what happened or why I was hurting so much. When I asked for my purse, all they did was put a mask over my face and blow oxygen at me. It was like waking up to a nightmare.
My heart races. I need to stop thinking about it. I’m safe now, and I doubt anybody has been better taken care of than me. The past few days have shown me a side of Callum I never knew existed. Gentle and attentive, trying to anticipate everything I need beforehand. He checks in on me a few times a day, even while he’s working, and otherwise hangs out here.
He’s even watched a few classic romantic comedies with me. Callum Torrio, the feared arms dealer, cracking up to an old Cary Grant movie. Nobody would believe it. I wouldn’t if I wasn’t curled up next to him at the time.
He’s made all of this so much easier to live with.
It only makes me feel worse that I was in that part of town at all. Why was I even thinking of signing a lease to begin with? It’s hard to remember now that I know this side of him exists.
Maybe this is a turning point. It would make all the pain worthwhile. The idea makes me smile, even as I fight to swing my legs over the side of the bed so I can use the bathroom. Moving around is getting easier, but I’m still sore and stiff. One of the nurses told me I’m lucky I didn’t break anything, and I know she’s right, but there’ve been moments when I was sure the x-rays were wrong, and I had a broken leg or arm. No, it didn’t make sense, but who thinks clearly when they’re in pain?