Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
He dropped his towel down his chest to his groin and looked at her with his dark, velvety eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong, princess. I’m no one’s killer but yours. No one runs me. I won’t go back to prison for Torpedo Ink. I’d already made up my mind about that before Mila made her run at Blythe and the kids. But for you, that’s different.”
She shook her head. “I don’t ever want you to think that’s why I’m with you.”
He gave her his ghost of a smile, the one that told her he was finished arguing with her. “Get dressed in dark clothes. Something you can move in. Those boots I bought for you. Put those on as well, the ones with the soft soles.”
She studied his face. “This is the real deal. You have news. Code was supposed to inform me.”
He flashed her a little grin. It was brief, barely there, but sexy as all get-out because he so rarely genuinely smiled. “You had to know that wasn’t going to happen. Damn, woman, you are put together fine. If you don’t cover up those tits and that ass, we’re going to be late. When there’s a briefing on running a takedown, being late is frowned on.”
Ambrielle had to admit hot blood rushed through her veins. Pure adrenaline. He loved her body. She had his marks all over her to prove it. How could she not bask in the way his eyes went hot with pure lust when his gaze moved so possessively over her? Deliberately she turned and strutted to the closet, knowing he was very fond of her backside. Hearing him groan was very gratifying. She laughed softly to herself.
“The last anyone heard of Thompson, I thought they’d said he’d tucked his tail and run back to New Orleans,” she called as she adjusted her very generous breasts into a sports bra. She followed that with a T-shirt and jeans.
“He would have been a lot safer if he’d stayed in New Orleans,” Master declared.
“He’s not in New Orleans?”
“No, he came back looking for you. Hired an army and thinks that’s going to save his ass. He’s gearing up for war. I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to do, drive tanks into Caspar and demand we turn you over to him?” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “We’re going to take the war to him so there’s no chance of any bystanders getting hurt.”
He sounded close, so she lowered the dark sweater she was considering wearing to find him towering over her. He wore a loose-fitting pair of jeans and a tight tee stretched across his thick chest. He held out a tactical vest to her.
“You need to wear this. It’s heavy, just so you know, if you haven’t used one before.”
He put it into her hands, and she nearly dropped it, not expecting the weight of it, even though he’d warned her. Just seeing and feeling the vest suddenly made everything in her life all too real. There was no pushing her parents’ murders away, or the fact that she’d been in training so she could retaliate and kill the man who had ordered her parents dead. The smell of blood was strong in her nostrils, and even the coppery taste was there in her mouth. She wanted to vomit all over the soft-soled boots Master had bought for her.
“Ambrielle?” She heard his voice calling to her from far away.
Forcing air through her lungs, she steadied herself. She couldn’t faint or have a panic attack, not now, when she was so close to her goal. She shook her head. “I think I need to eat something. My blood sugar is low. Otherwise, I’m fine.”
He cupped her face in his large hands and forced her to look at him. “Listen to me, Ambrielle. Whether you’re there or not, he’s a dead man. I give you my word on that.” The pad of his thumb slid across her lower lip as his dark eyes stared intently into hers. “There’s no need for you to go with us. You’ve seen how we work. You know you can trust me. You know I’ll get this done for you.”
There was no way to prevent him from feeling her shaking, so she didn’t try. She dug her fingers into the tactical vest and looked Master in the eyes without flinching. “I can do this,” she assured him, her voice barely a thread of sound. “It’s hitting me harder than I thought it would, everything coming back at once, but I’ve got you for my anchor, to hold me safe, and I’m counting on that. I need this, Master. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t see this through.”
He nodded his head and took the vest back from her, sliding it over her shoulders and fitting it over her breasts. “Tighter fit than I thought. Is that too uncomfortable? I gave the measurements to Mechanic. He gets our gear for us.”