Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 169013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
A familiar caress for a hardened man.
All except for the fact that Brinley’s hot body was tucked tight against mine.
The woman had her arms locked around my waist and her shallow breaths were panted at the side of my cheek.
Scent of her all around.
Lulling me into a calm that I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
I knew better than to fall into the false security of it, though.
In my world, you didn’t get complacent. When you did, you ended up in a shallow grave somewhere deep in the forest. Nothing to show for your life but the bones pirated by the scavengers that sniffed out your decaying flesh.
Besides, this wasn’t a joy ride.
This was business.
Duty.
I had something significant to protect, and I wasn’t about to botch this job by getting stupid.
I kept the throttle steady as we rode by the industrial buildings near the property before Deer Creek Lane curved left and the road gave way to the family neighborhoods that hugged each side of the road.
My bike rising and dipping over the humps.
Brinley’s arms cinched tighter when we hit the height of each one, and I could only imagine her belly was plunging and soaring.
Both exhilarated and afraid.
I could feel each emotion radiate from her.
This ferocious woman with the faintest traces of vulnerability hidden right below the surface.
I slowed as we came to the T and made the right onto Crimson Creek Blvd, the main drag that cut through the small town.
Crimson Creek wasn’t big.
But it was quaint.
Cozy.
Tucked in the deepest part of the forest about two hours from the southern Oregon border.
I still wasn’t sure what’d possessed me to return here. This place haunted by ghosts and written in horrors. Memories so thick and chilling, each driven into my brain like an icepick.
Her voice still lingered on the breeze. At one with the trees as they swished overhead.
It’s your heart.
It was a simple statement and had seemed so simple then. Before that promise had become defiled by hate.
Most of Crimson Creek was spread out. Roads turning off and winding you down into the different neighborhoods. A cool restaurant, a motel, and some shops on the river.
But there was a congested area right in the middle built up with buildings and streets.
Most of them old but revamped.
It had a bit of an eclectic vibe. A ton of art galleries and quirky shops.
Before we made it to the center of it, I made a right at Crimson Creek’s only stoplight that led to the section of town that was less touristy.
A hardware store, some medical and professional offices, a couple of banks, a grocery store.
I slowed even more and slid into the lane to make a left into the drugstore.
My bike chugged low as it carried us through the parking lot and to an empty spot at the front, and I angled the metal around so I could use my feet to back us in.
My attention swept left and right to ensure nothing was amiss. To ensure I wasn’t recklessly hauling her out and making her a target.
Apparently, the only thing amiss was me.
I wondered if the residents here remembered me. If they knew exactly who we were and what had happened all those years ago. If our family had become gossip and speculation.
A faded headline that had come back to repeat itself. Nothing but a Dateline exposé.
Because every damned eye in the parking lot swung toward us.
Taking note of my presence.
Wary and unsure.
Whatever they remembered, the one thing they were certain of was that I’d brought trouble to their town.
Sticky fear slipping down their spines.
Didn’t really relish injecting it, but it was necessary.
My position commanded respect, and as much as they might like to think they were condemning me, I could still feel the most fundamental part of them bowing to me.
Killing the engine, I grabbed Brinley’s hand.
“Hop off.”
“I’m not sure I can walk after that.” Her breath was raspy and low and fuck, one sentence out of her mouth could trip a circuit in my brain.
I chuckled low. “That was four miles, not a cross-country trip.”
I could almost feel the roll of those harvest eyes. “I’m no biker, Silas Mercer.”
“No?” I said it like I hadn’t felt her shaking out of time during the whole ride.
“Not a scrap of leather in my closet.”
“Well, that is a shame. Guess we’ll have to rectify that.”
Horrible plan.
What she’d been prancing around in was bad enough.
Stunner on my property doing exactly that.
I couldn’t imagine what the sight of her clad in black lace and leather would do to me.
“I’m good, thank you.” Nothing but sass, this one. “Besides, I won’t be around long enough for that.”
Right.
The thought of it should bring relief, not that antsy feeling rising up in me again.
I beat it back, changed the subject as I gritted my teeth. “Keep those legs away from the exhaust pipe. It’s hot as fuck, and believe me when I tell you that you don’t want that kind of burn.”