Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
I snort, watching another tower of cases roll by. “Did you at least bring your computers?”
“No electronics. Cartel rule. They took our phones, too. Wolf complained. Loudly.”
“Of course, he did.”
Across the atrium, he moves from person to person, making friends and sending the entire room into laughter.
Then he sees Frizz.
One look at the man’s stitched mouth, and Wolf grins like he found his people.
“You’re a whole vibe.” He looks Frizz up and down and lets out a low whistle. “We should absolutely be best friends.”
“We can’t leave him unsupervised.” Jag rubs his brow.
“Probably not.”
As if Wolf can hear us, he holds up a finger to his audience and peels away. The room bends around him as he floats toward us, unbothered, luminous, entirely himself.
I missed him so fucking much. He closes the distance, and I feel it everywhere, that mystical force that always pulls me into his orbit.
“Bring it in.” Without waiting, he wraps his arms around us and brings himself in. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going.” I flick the pearls at his throat. “How’s it going with you?”
“I’m working the room, living my best life. What I need to see more of is you two working each other.”
“What does that even mean?” Jag’s forehead creases.
“Don’t ask me. This is your sexy party. Figure it out.”
“I’m going to show Jag our room.” I motion toward the hall. “He wants to shower.”
“Yeah. Do that.” Wolf points an unwavering glare at Jag. “You’ll tell her everything, including the deep fake and eye prongs and how that made you feel.”
“Deep fake and… What now?” I look between them.
Jag sighs. “Wolf—”
“No omissions. Lay it all out there, take the time, fight it out, and fuck it dry.” He takes Jag’s face in his hands and plants a kiss on his lips. Then he turns to me and does the same. “I don’t want to see either of you until you’ve hashed it out so hard that you can’t keep your hands off each other. I’ll be here when you’re ready for that part.”
With that, he spins away and saunters back to his new friends.
Jag and I exchange a halting moment of eye contact, and in that space, a nascent bond forms without either of us reaching for it. There’s no challenge or regret in the sudden, unfamiliar connection. Only understanding.
As I struggle to put my thoughts into words, he does it for me.
“Whatever else we are to each other now, we are aligned here. In him. In loving Wolf without apology or rivalry. In wanting his joy more than our own certainty.”
“Yeah.” My throat closes. I couldn’t have said it better myself. “So… You love him.”
“I never had a choice.”
“Me, neither. He’s impossible not to love.”
“He’s our way back to each other, Little Bird. He already carried us halfway. The rest is on us.” His eyes turn to burnished ice, his features hardening in that familiar, commanding, bossy-stepbrother look that expects compliance. “We’re not going back to the way things were.”
“No?” My skin heats. “Where are we going?”
“Take us to our room.”
I follow Dove through the cartel’s stronghold, every nerve attuned to her presence and the danger around her.
My mind builds maps, exits, and choke points in the corridors and rooms we pass. I mark the places where walls can slide open, panels can drop, and cameras can pivot, searching for seams undetected by the untrained eye.
But I keep losing track of all of that because she’s in front of me.
She navigates this viper nest like she belongs here, her hair braided down her back, and her luscious ass swaying in tiny black shorts, all easy confidence, undaunted by her surroundings.
Her bare feet pad across white marble, her toes and fingers painted the same blue as her hair. Being this close to her, watching her without a camera lens, fucks with my concentration.
The braid is slowly coming loose. A strand slips free, then another. My fingers twitch to fix it for her. I was good at that once.
I pry my gaze away before she realizes how fucking hungry I am for her.
The domestic scents of citrus polish and bleach ride the air. Beneath it lurks the undertow of violence, metallic and faint, the coppered shadow of what happens when debts are collected, and mercy isn’t on the menu.
I track the cameras in the ceilings, the motion sensors out of range, and the armed men positioned in every direction. This place is a machine, built to keep danger outside and control inside, while tucking its teeth behind a smile.
She glances back at me, braid shifting and unraveling, the blue strands catching the light.
How many times have I imagined locking her inside a fortress like this and making her stand in front of floor-to-ceiling glass to watch the world shrink into safety? The thought surfaces with the ache of possibility.