Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 73170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Well, now it’s a roster with one more,” Dad says. “I’m goin’ home to get some of my shit sorted and I’ll park beside them. I won’t be leaving until either this is sorted or he’s gone.”
“Whatever makes you feel better,” Linc agrees.
Dad comes over to me, grabs the back of my head and gives me a rough jerk so he can briefly press his mouth to my forehead. “Love you,” he says, gruffly.
“Love you,” I rasp.
“I fuckin’ hate him, though, baby girl. Fuckin’ hate this shit for you.”
“We’re on it, Lorenzo,” Erica tells him. “We’re covering multiple bases. The coven. The council. Catrina. We’re going to figure this out.”
She’s vowing this to me. And I believe her. I have to. I can’t let any doubt creep in, or it’ll bring me to my knees.
“I know you will,” I tell her. “If there’s anything I can do–”
“Just keep doin’ what you’re doing, girlfriend,” Erica says.
“And what’s that?” I ask, bewildered, because I feel like I’m doing nothing to help.
“Being what he needs. Wearing him down,” she winks. “Believe it or not, it’s helping.”
“Is it?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you. Thanks to all of you. But I need some alone time.”
And I turn and go inside, shut the door, and lock it. I grab the two weapons and strap them to my waist. I don’t want to cry in front of them again. And I don’t want to be around anybody. I’m going to turn some music on, clean up our brunch dishes, and wait for him to wake up.
I crank the music and fill the small sink with hot water, squirting dish soap in while I hear multiple car doors closing as well as Riley’s motorcycle starting up.
After I hear nothing else, I let out a long breath.
Catching sight of myself on the back of the frying pan I cooked the eggs in, I can see I look like shit. My hand still has a little damage from his claws, and I can still feel it on my back. My eyes are red, so is my nose from crying. I need to do another shift to heal.
So that’s what I do. I heal on the outside and hope hard that all these people that care will find the answers we need so we can work together to help my mate heal on the inside.
***
I’m done having alone time. I want him.
I venture out there to see if he’s still wolf, to see if he’s awake. I find him sitting with his head in his hands. I walk in.
He has the mask off. He eyeballs the loaded toolbelt.
“What happened?” he asks.
“You shifted. You jumped me. But you got your mask on before that so that was good.” I shrug.
“It didn’t hurt you?” he asks.
“Not terribly,” I admit.
He frowns. “What does that mean?”
“A couple scratches,” I fib.
It was a lot worse than that. Deep cuts on my hand and chest, and he ripped up my back and also shoulders when he sprinted across me. I’ve shifted twice and there’s still painless but colorful bruising on my back.
“You could’ve come and asked,” I quip.
“Don’t see the keys there,” he says, eyes flitting to the empty nail they’re generally hung on.
Where are they? My eyes scan the floor and I don’t see them.
“One sec,” I look around outside the building. No sign of them.
I grab my phone and open a group text string with Linc, Joel, and the phone number they gave me for the patrol team.
One of you put the keys to Jared’s restraints in your pocket?
I get multiple responses within seconds. None of them have the keys.
I text Dad to ask if he has the keys.
He reads my message.
And I wait.
I wait and wait and he’s not replying, so fuck it, I storm out onto the old water tower road and can see the two vehicles parked a ways away. My temper hasn’t simmered in the slightest by the time I get to Dad’s car.
He’s got music on, he’s reclined in the driver’s seat, there’s a cooler bag on the passenger seat, and his phone is in a cradle attached to a vent. There’s a camera feed open of the camera showing outside the bunker.
I hold my hand out.
He looks at my open hand, looks up at my face, and then scoffs.
I wiggle my fingers.
Dad reclines his seat further and puts his sunglasses on, folding his arms over his chest.
I know one thing – he’s showing me where my stubborn streak came from.
“Dad,” I warn.
He sighs, then hits the button to force his seat upright before he leans over and opens the glove box, pulling the keys from it and dropping them in my palm.
I turn to leave.
“Cicely.”
I turn back around.
“Almost threw them away. Anything like that happens again, I’ll throw that asshole into a pit he’ll never come back from.”