Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 133975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
“Two females survived. I consider them sisters. Thought they were the strongest women I knew, but I think you outshine them, Wildfire.” It was the highest compliment he could pay her.
Lana Popov and Alena Koval had been toddlers when he first met them. They were the only girls left alive, and his brethren in Torpedo Ink, all graduates of that fucked-up school, had guarded them with their lives. They couldn’t prevent the ugliness that had occurred, the attacks on the girls, but they’d managed to keep them alive. Both women appeared to be as tough as nails. Both women were respected members of Torpedo Ink and had full voting rights. And yes, they were every bit as lethal as the men.
“Thank you, Keys, that’s a kind thing to say.”
He barely heard the thread of sound, but she had acknowledged his effort. Polite. She might give him a bad time, but she always had impeccable manners. They’d gotten coffee together and gone to the diner a couple of times late at night. She always spoke to the waiter or waitress, asking about their day. Calling them by name. Smiling no matter how tired she was from being on her feet all day.
She was such a mystery to him. A puzzle he needed to solve. She dressed in shapeless clothes for work or just doing errands around town. She didn’t look at men or flirt with them. He was the one exception, and he’d worked his ass off to find the right way to break her down. He was excellent at reading an opponent and knowing the exact thing to trap them.
“There,” she said suddenly, indicating a small pile of large rocks covered in needles, dirt and other rotting vegetation. A steady stream of water ran down the mountain above it, rushing over dirt to cut a silvery waterfall. It was slender but fast-moving and ran a good distance over the vegetation, continuing to carve itself a path.
Her teeth were chattering, a bad sign. She was very slight in comparison to him, and keeping her body temperature up clearly was going to be a problem, especially in the rain. “There could be a small cave right there. I don’t know how stable the mountain is, but usually, when you have so many trees and brush, the roots will hold the dirt in place.”
He could shore up a cave with tree branches. The most important thing was to get her into a shelter and start a fire. They could dry out their clothes and shoes again. He took a good look at her as they neared the area she had indicated. She was shaking uncontrollably again. Definitely hypothermia setting in.
Keys wasn’t a man to feel desperate. Under ordinary circumstances, if he’d been in the same situation with another woman, he’d take care of her, but he wouldn’t feel the anxiety he was experiencing. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation and forced him to face a disturbing truth. When his club came for them—and they would come—he was taking his Wildfire home with him. He wasn’t leaving her behind, where it wasn’t safe. He couldn’t protect her in Caspar, his home base, if she remained behind. This was Headed for Hell territory, and they would be out for revenge.
Bottom line. Lyric was his. She didn’t have to like it, and she wouldn’t. He had no idea what he was going to do with her. He didn’t want or need an old lady. But if he brought her home, she’d have to live with him. She couldn’t stay at the clubhouse. She wouldn’t stay put. She was that kind of independent woman.
He left her standing close to the stream as he clawed his way up the embankment through mud and rotting vegetation. Damn if she wasn’t right. There was a sharp curved entrance leading beneath the rocks. A cave, all right. A shallow one, but it was shelter. He could get a fire going near the entrance to vent it and put her toward the back, where the wind and rain couldn’t touch her.
He went in first. She would be able to stand, but he had to remain bent to keep from hitting his head. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was getting his woman out of the wet clothes and getting her warmed up. She was too weak to climb up the embankment and so in the end, he just picked her up and all but threw her to the back of the small space. Her body was icy cold.
“Can you manage to get your clothes off? Everything. Shoes, socks, strip down to bare skin. I’ve got the sleeping bag laid out. I’ll make us a fire. The space is small, and it will heat up fast.” He dropped their supplies between her and where he intended to make the fire, not looking at her. Inexplicably angry with her all over again. She could do that to him. Make him insane.