Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“What can I do?” Em asks, stepping closer but also not touching me, as if she knows it might be what sets me off.
“Derrick,” I whisper.
“I’m on my way,” he says from the phone in my hands. “Just a little longer, sweetheart. Jesus, fucking drive faster.”
Chapter 39
Oracle
Just like outside the house in Santa Fe, I’m out of the vehicle outside of the clubhouse before it even pulls to a full stop. Also, just like in Santa Fe, someone calling my name right now would not keep me from going to her.
There are several people in the living room, but none of them are foolish enough to think I’ll take even a second to speak with them.
Seeing her on the video chat and seeing her in person are two very different things. I know she has a cut on her cheek. I was still on the call when Slick came to our room to look her over, and every wince and sound of pain she made was just more fuel added to the fire I’m building to rip Nathan Adair apart into pieces.
The sight of Newton off to the side of the living room almost makes me pause, but it’s more so Brielle Adair sitting beside him on the couch that makes my eyes narrow.
Kincaid texted Rocker on the drive in to let him know that the woman was there, and also to inform us that Beth freaked out twice when the woman tried to get close to her. The clubhouse is the last place she should be. She already almost got Beth killed. Who else has to get hurt before everyone else realizes that she’s toxic?
As I turn down the hallway, I try to shove those feelings aside. Realistically, I know that Brielle is as much a victim as Beth is, but I can’t seem to accept that right now. I don’t know if I’ll ever not look at the woman and wish her from existence for the pain she’s caused my wife.
I pull in a deep breath, squeezing my hands into fists before reaching for the doorknob.
She’s sitting on the bed when I enter, and the cut and bruise on her face makes me want to get thrown in jail just so I can get to Nathan Adair quicker.
I hate the tears staining her cheeks.
“I’m sorry I’m such a pain in the ass,” she whispers.
I huff, but the situation isn’t funny at all.
I cross the room to her, hitting my knees and burying my head in her lap.
I’m a man, and as such, I’m not prone to hysterics. Other than today, I can’t recall the last time I cried, but I don’t hold back.
Relief washes over me. I started the day annoyed that she wouldn’t answer her phone, and I have run the gamut of emotions since. I’ve felt helpless, hopeless, and completely lost. I’ve begged and pleaded, bartered with God to give anything he asked of me just to keep her safe. I’ve vowed vengeance silently when thinking that Rocker was going to stick to a protocol that would end up getting my wife killed. I still haven’t decided which way to go with that.
They weren’t willing to sacrifice Brielle, but she made that choice on her own, sneaking out the back of the shelter and meeting Xan Adair at the park, even when she was told she needed to stay put while SWAT and other organizations were getting ready.
“Hey,” she says, her hands tangling in my hair.
I look up at her, not feeling the least bit ashamed when she uses her thumbs to sweep tears from my cheeks.
“I should be the one comforting you,” I manage.
She shakes her head. “This is all my fault. I should’ve listened.”
I don’t argue, but right now isn’t the time for agreeing that I was right all along. It’s natural for people who grow up safely to always think they’re safe, just like it’s instinctual for people who are raised in dangerous situations to never fully trust anyone.
“I promise when I get back to Lindell, I’ll stay put.”
My heart seizes with her words, my head shaking to immediately disagree with her.
“My contract with Cerberus is five years. We can’t move yet.”
“We?”
I hate the suspicious way she says the word.
“We,” I repeat. “I go where you go. You’re my wife.”
“Fake wife,” she says, a sadness in her eyes.
“I love you.”
“That’s not real.”
On my knees, I inch closer to her, leveling my eyes with hers as I reach up and touch her cheek, being sure not to press on her injury.
“I love you,” I repeat, wondering just what she’s thinking when her eyes flutter closed.
“Derrick.”
“I love you, Beth Lee. How many times do I have to say it before you believe it?”
She doesn’t open her eyes, and she doesn’t say it back, but she also doesn’t argue with me further. I don’t have a problem proving how I feel about her, but I can’t do that with her in Texas and me here in New Mexico.