Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
I stretch my neck backward and say a harsh, “Fuck.” Then I glance at Tom, my pulse in my throat, and I ask his brothers, “Yes or no?” Neither respond. “You really can’t tell me? Because when he’s sober, I’m going to ask him anyway.”
“Ask what?” Tom tunes back in, unable to lift himself up the door.
“He wasn’t roofied,” Beckett suddenly informs me.
I release a tight breath and pinch my eyes. My other arm is still wrapped around Tom’s legs, and I hold him a little closer. Thank God he hasn’t been through that.
“Audrey was,” Tom mutters.
“Your little sister?” I frown.
Beckett is shaking his head over and over at Tom.
Tom mumbles another word. I piece it apart and say out loud, “Fentanyl?” I look to his brothers. “She was slipped fentanyl?”
“How far are we from the McDonald’s?” Beckett asks the bodyguard, completely ignoring me.
Charlie has a blank look on Tom. “Just wait until Eliot hears about your loose lips, little brother.”
“Loose lips sink Cobalt ships.” Tom mimes a drum beat in the air.
I assure them, “I won’t tell anyone. I signed an NDA, but even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t say a fucking thing.”
At this, Beckett hands me the water, but he manages to aim one more silent threat into me at the same time.
“Thanks,” I say and untwist the cap, tossing it in the car door’s cup holder. Then I fist Tom’s black muscle shirt, drawing him toward me until I can put a hand behind his shoulders. He slumps into me. “Tom.” I clasp his jaw while he rests his temple on the back of the seat. At least he’s upright. “Water.”
There is no way he’ll hold the bottle without dropping it, so I put the rim to his lips and spill some into his mouth.
He places a palm over my hand, and his eyes flit up at me as he sips water. I cage my breath.
Thoughts must be spinning in his head because when he guides my hand with the glass bottle down, he says, “Beck said go and he just…poof. Left.”
RJ…he’s thinking about fucking RJ.
About him leaving. I don’t like the sadness in Tom’s eyes. I like the conceited, happy drunk stage he was just at.
“Everyone loves you, nepo baby. You said it yourself.”
Tom is in a daze.
I pinch his chin and tilt his head toward me. His eyes aren’t heavy-lidded. They’re big and blue and on me. “Tom—”
“You stayed.”
The deep, emotional look he sends me is a hand reaching through my body and fisting my lungs. Fuck. “Will I ever ditch you?” I move his head side to side with my hold on his chin. He smiles and pushes my chest—he falls backward with the force, and I reach out and catch the back of his head.
He’s fisting my shirt now, and I’m breathing harder than I want to. I bring him back upright, but he slumps forward into my chest. I don’t look at his brothers, but I feel their eyes on me. Tom’s forehead digs into my ribs.
“I don’t annoy you?” Tom mumbles out.
“Oh, no, you definitely fucking annoy me,” I tell him, adjusting him so he rests his head on my chest. Basically holding him on my lap now, I cup his face, and his eyes aren’t morose anymore. There is so much light in Tom. It’s easier now to see how he could’ve sparked a feeling I’d lost. “I like you living under my skin.”
Tom has a soft, faraway smile. He shuts his eyes, his lips rising higher and higher. “‘Your Epidemic.’” He names our song.
Our song.
They’re all ours.
“Ils sortent ensemble?” Are they dating? Charlie’s hushed voice snaps me out of focus.
“Je ne crois pas.” I don’t think so. Beckett replies, “Il ne sortirait jamais avec son batteur.” He wouldn’t date his drummer. He takes a short pause. “Ils se séparent, le groupe se sépare.” They break up. The band breaks up.
“Ils niquent?”Are they fucking?
“Peut-être.” Maybe. Beckett clicks open the middle console. “Mais il nous le dirait. Non?” But he would tell us. No?
The car rolls to a stop near a curb, and I’m about to reposition Tom so I can go grab him food. But Beckett tells me, “We have to wait.”
“Why?” I clearly spot the golden yellow McDonald’s arches among the high-rise buildings. I don’t see the problem. “I can even hop out and get halal on the street—there’s a truck right there.”
“We can get McDonald’s,” Beckett says.
Okay, that’s not the issue then. “I know why Tom shouldn’t be stepping out of the car. But you have two feet.” It dawns on me. “You aren’t seriously going to make your secret service grab you a pack of nuggets.” Fuck it. “I’ll go.”
I’m gently leaning Tom back against the door and untangling his legs from mine, then I jump out on the other side. Fully understanding that they could leave my ass inside this McDonald’s and drive away.