Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Ace said I'd have to think on my feet, and as far as I can see right now, maybe getting close to her is the only way. It's the quickest way to find out if she's a part of what's going on here.
Tommy Wilkinson wouldn't allow me to get close to one of his toys, would he?
Although I've all but made up my mind about what needs to be done, I just can't seem to pull the trigger.
I open my mouth a half dozen times to speak to her, but small talk and flirting are so fucking far out of my wheelhouse that my pulse changes in a way I hate more than the chaos that's normally swirling around in my head.
It keeps me silent. It keeps me watching her like a creep who's more likely going to end up being escorted out of here with a warning never to return than a phone number and the chance to use her to figure out why this place would end up on Nathan Adair's list.
There's always a chance that there's nothing criminal going on here at all, but Ace advised that ICE wants the surrounding thirty-five to forty miles around our base camp to be as free from the criminal element as possible. I, along with others involved with this new organization, have a list of places, some on Nathan's list and others we've been made aware of through snitches, that need to be eliminated before we can get to the real business of shutting down as many domestic sex trafficking rings as we can.
With these places cleared, we can breathe a little better and operate with as little suspicion as possible.
I jolt, hating that I let myself get lost in my head enough that the slap of the beer bottle on the bar top causes me to startle.
I didn't ask for another beer, but instead of growling at her, which is my first instinct, I give her a nod and slide the half-empty, warm one I've been mutilating the label on across to her.
As far as smiles go, hers is really pretty—straight, white teeth, proving that at least her early life must've had someone who at least cared about her appearance in it. In my time with Cerberus, we came across so many people who had bad lives as children. They were neglected, and that sometimes made them easier to take and abuse. We also came into contact with very important people who were also in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up victimized.
"Thank you," I tell her, the words coming a little too late to seem natural.
But instead of calling me on it, she simply dips her head before grabbing a bowl of lemons.
It's going to take a lot more than just sitting at the bar and staring at her to be able to come back here and not raise the suspicions of everyone around.
Her skill with the paring knife is no better with the lemons than they were with the limes, and I fight the urge to give her directions on how to do it correctly.
"I like the silent type."
I pull my eyes from her hands when they stop moving, looking up to find her watching me.
The thrum of my pulse slows, my breaths coming a little easier as we lock eyes.
"Excuse me?"
The voice is mine. I recognize it, but the direction to speak didn't come from a command I thought of before it happened.
"I've been told I talk enough for everyone," she says with a wider smile, her shoulders lifting in a shrug. "So it doesn't bother me that you're not filling in the silence with small talk."
I sense the edge of irritation in her words, knowing there's more to it than she's letting on. Whoever has told her that in the past did it in an unkind way. It was an insult rather than her being praised, as if it were a good character trait. She annoyed someone or spoke when she was expected to stay silent.
Irritation for her rather than at her catches me by surprise. I should probably tell her whoever said that was an asshole, but I also worry she'd think I was digging too deep into the situation, and that would be suspicious.
Social interaction and knowing what to do and when to do it is fucking hard. I always seem to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. It's why I value solitude so much. I could go days, probably weeks, in utter silence, with nothing but the whispers in my head to keep me company and be just fine. Others talk out loud to themselves when they're alone to stay sane.
I give her another quick dip of my head, unsure of what else she expects from me.
Like she has done several times before, her smile widens before she goes back to cutting the lemons.