Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Christ on a cracker.
He’s so deranged we’re actually having a mundane conversation between his casual comments about slaughtering me.
I’ve got to keep him talking, though. If his mouth is running, he can’t just shoot me.
“Do you have chocolate, Troy?” I ask.
“Chocolate?”
I offer a wry smile. “You know, something sweet, a last meal sort of thing.”
He pauses, considering it before shaking his head. “Whatever you ate for lunch will have to do. This isn’t prison, lady. What the hell do I look like?”
I laugh loudly.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m just lovin’ the irony here. You’re a funny, funny guy, Mr. Clement. Criminals get last meals, but I don’t. And besides accidentally meeting Cole and Destiny, I’ve done nothing wrong.”
He turns away and stomps out the door. I watch his silhouette through the rain. It looks like he’s pulling up the anchor.
When he comes back inside, he’s reaching into the waistband of his pants.
Ugh. Do I even want to know? “What are you doing?”
He turns back to face me, but before he’s even spun around, I can tell from his shadow there’s something in his hands.
I gasp, forgetting how to breathe.
Looks like I won’t be talking my way out of this.
I’m on a boat, heading out to sea, with no one around for miles.
Cole, I’m so flipping sorry, I think miserably. I wish I could’ve been the one to love you like Aster never did.
Whatever dumb things you said aside, I wish you’d let me be yours.
24
Broken Cup (Cole)
Turns out, a business-class Lincoln is not a good rescue car.
It’s a clunky, meandering heap of metal and leather, hardly suited for hard slumming through this damn endless rain.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Destiny cries, her voice high-pitched.
“Nothing you need to worry about. Stay buckled, baby girl.”
She gives me a stricken look.
It’s been the same ever since Eliza called.
For a few seconds, I listened in frigid silence while she asked Troy what they were doing at a marina. Then the call cut out.
There’s only one marina out that way I know of.
With traffic grinding to a crawl with what looks like two nasty accidents ahead, it would almost be faster on foot. If only I had a ship big enough to handle the mess, I could—
Wait. Hold the fuck up.
“On second thought, reach up here and find my phone,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“Let’s play a game.”
“A game? Are you serious?” Her eyes are huge marbles, swirling with worry.
“Yep. I’m the captain and you’re a seaman. You follow orders, but you don’t ask questions,” I say tightly.
“This game sucks already.”
“Destiny, get my phone.”
With her nose wrinkling in protest, she reaches into the front seat and gropes around until she has my phone in hand.
“Now find Brock Winthrope in my contacts, call him, and put it on speaker,” I say.
It only rings twice before I hear, “Winthrope.”
“Brock, it’s Cole Lancaster—any chance you’re still in town?”
“I am,” he says cautiously.
Thank God. I don’t have time to sugarcoat anything tonight.
“Listen, you’re on speaker because I’m driving in this crap. I’m with my daughter and driver. I hate to ask, but I need a favor.”
He pauses before he says, “If I can, I’ll help. What’s wrong?”
“Rumor has it you rented a good-sized yacht since arriving in Seattle.”
“Yes, but you’d have to be an absolute jackass to take it out in this weather. I never had you pegged for stupid,” he says sharply.
“I know, it’s garbage. Traffic is even worse, and that ship is my best bet at getting across the Puget Sound on a night like this.”
“...you can’t wait to cross until after the storm clears?”
Fuck, how do I say this?
Do I just tell him my girlfriend’s in trouble?
Also, how weird is it that I’m chasing a woman who wants nothing to do with me through the storm of the century?
I don’t want to tell him that Troy could hurt her.
I don’t want it to be true. And I definitely don’t need a reactive pack of cops swooping in and pushing him to do something drastic.
All I want is Eliza leaving that marina in one piece.
Before I can say anything, Destiny cuts in. “Our sourcing guy went crazy. We think he’s kidnapped Eliza—or maybe not like kidnapped-kidnapped, but he’s taken her to some creepy marina and she doesn’t want to be there. My dad’s in full Navy man mode. He’s gonna tear this dude a second ass.”
“Eliza, the coffee girl?” Brock asks, and then with some amusement says, “If it involves ass-tearing, why didn’t you just say so?”
“Yes. The same brilliant woman behind the drinks for your resorts,” I say.
“Damn. She was such a sweet girl. I hope she’s not in real trouble?”
“I’m worried she is,” Destiny says anxiously.
“And I’m afraid my daughter’s right.” I growl into the phone. “Brock, can I use the yacht or not?”
“Of course. You don’t deserve to go through this again,” he says gently.