Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Please … please leave my girlfriend out of this,” Jake begged.
The jarring ring of my cell phone filled the air, and his eyes widened in fear.
Da. This made the threat real.
I glanced at the screen and grinned. Father. He’d been ringing me for about an hour. I answered, muttered a few Russian words, and disconnected. I nodded. “They will comfort the doctor while we fix this.”
The color drained from Jake’s face, and his legs failed him. He landed on the edge of his bed, shoved quivering fingers through his dark blond hair. “Please leave us alone.”
“Nyet. You have that cute Scottish accent if I listen hard enough. Polish it up, I might be inclined to release her.” I grabbed a hardback thriller. SS Robinson’s signature and a note were scrawled in a sharp felt pen mark. “Nice.”
Jake jutted his chin to the book. “Take the book. I-It’s yours.”
“I’ve finished the series. Let me explain my reason for this unpremeditated visit.” I crouched in front of him.
“I’m listening—” He muttered, “Delusional lass,” under his breath.
My fingertip reached over. He turned his face sharp. Fast. Fury written all over him. I touched the furrow of his thick brow anyway. I’d wanted to do that while watching him read another SS Robinson psych thriller at the park months ago.
“You called me delusional. I have a question for you, Baby MacKenzie.” I spoke slowly, allowing him to digest my every word. “Will I be delusional if you must bury everyone you love?”
38
NATASHA
My hands scrubbed my face. Never drank so much in my life. I bit back a tear. Was I blackout drunk … because of Vassilievich? The dam broke.
A deluge of tears overcame me as I lay in bed. His conversation echoed in my mind. His threat and nothing else.
“Natasha … baby …” Lachlan’s satiny smooth voice wrapped around me, warm and comforting.
I popped up in bed, clutching soft linens in my hands. “Sorry, I must’ve drunk a lot.” My urge to speak quickly and apologize vanished as I absorbed his attractive face. Then the surrounding area. A lot smaller than his usual bedroom.
Tiny windows lined either wall. The shades drew tight. “Those are … those are airplane windows, Lach.”
“Aye.” He stood, the top of the plane mere inches above his head.
“What’s going on?” I climbed from the bed, unsure if I should hug him or deal with morning breath. And the pain. My hands clutched my temples.
“Tash, you’re hurt?”
“A little.” A lot. Getting too drunk sounded embarrassing. “Okay,” I groaned. “I don’t know how much I drank last night. But why are we on this plane?” A gasp rushed through me, and I glanced at my left hand.
“We didn’t do a rushed Vegas wedding.” A chuckle escaped him, yet his turquoise eyes held no spark, and his mouth flattened. “Rory said you had one shot and sipped a daiquiri. A drugged daiquiri. It caused anterograde amnesia.”
My brows lifted.
“Last night at The Red Door.”
“Hah. Someone has balls. Or had. Had balls and a heartbeat. All the stuff necessary to live.” After a solo giggle, my eyes widened. “You’re serious.”
Lachlan and I sat at the edge of the bed, and he explained how his family put their lives on the line to help me escape my family’s lounge. My. Family. It was a safe space. I inquired how the MacKenzies fled, and he confirmed that they … left.
A little loopy, I strolled to the door, opened it, and peeked through the gap. I blinked at the back of heads. Chevelle’s hair pressed like Momma’s. Justice’s kinky coils. Rory’s hard, perfectly gelled hair. Nan’s short tresses curled underneath her ears. And the others. I shut the door softly. Gotta figure out how to thank them for saving me. “Lach, are we visiting Scotland?”
“I thought it best you get away. But you gotta call Vassili, love. He’s not answering me.”
I nodded, sliding onto the bed’s edge, living in an alternate universe. “How?” I murmured.
“Borya had some repelling—”
“Borya? He has the key to my house! He’s my friend.”
“Friend? Nae, Tash. You are mistaken.” Lachlan cleared his throat. Voice a little less tight, he added, “Best not to consider him as a friend anymore.”
“No crap,” I muttered, deciding to pocket his betrayal for another day. Borya … was my friend. I crawled to the bed’s edge and pushed up the plastic curtain. Misty clouds rushed past. “Okay. We’re flying high. Wait. Your game. Tonight …”
“Sprained wrist.” Lachlan wiggled his perfectly fine hand.
“So, the same doctor who pumped me full of IV fluids gave you a note that excuses you for …”
“Two weeks. We can return sooner.”
My gaze traced his hollow eyes and a tuft of his usually windswept hair sticking up in front. This man hadn’t slept a wink. Hadn’t found peace because of what nearly happened to me.
But what?