Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I catch my reflection in the mirror and pause. May as well play the game.
I’ll feed the fandom since they’ve probably seen the crazy party photos, the wild dinner from last night, and whatever else Camille has planted there.
ASHVY is over. I swear it.
Anyone see that reel of dude being tossed onto a balcony?
She is fucking Atlas not Asher.
With a smirk, I lift my hand and snap a shot.
I study the photo. It’ll do. My hair’s pulled into a high ponytail, dark waves spilling down my back. My tanned skin is slick with sweat, and the lighting above cuts enough shadow beneath my cheekbones to hide the lack of sleep.
What was the last thing I ate? God. Probably the small slice of lamb last night before I lost my fucking appetite.
I type out a caption but then scrub it. It doesn’t need one.
I hit post, shove the glove on, and turn back to the bag.
An hour later, I fall to the ground, dragging in heavy breaths as the morning sun pours through the glass.
My ringtone cuts through Eminem and Dr. Dre rapping about Guns Blazing.
I hit answer. “What?”
“Damn. Cranky, much?” Lucinda slurs from sleep.
“Sorry.” I wince, staring up at the glass ceiling. Snow drifts down outside, whitening my view. “I’ve had a rough... night.”
“Mmhmm. Which brother?” She flips a light switch with a yawn.
“None. Just restlessness.” I almost spill everything, from Elea telling me about Parker to the drama last night that nearly ended in murder, but I can’t pull them any deeper into something that’s starting to feel personal. If Parker is their father, then Asher showing up in my life was never coincidence. Same as the thing he started to say on my birthday before I fucking shot him.
“None?” She answers, disappointment heavy in her tone. “Not even from the only man who’s ever caressed the soul of the famous Mariée de la Mort?”
“I’m not even going to entertain that comment with an answer.” I miss her. I miss all of them, and it’s only been a couple of days.
“I called to let you know Punk and Leon picked up new jobs.” She pauses, sheets shifting softly on her end. “I think we’re all just trying to keep busy, and the only way any of us knows how is to bury ourselves in work.”
Unfortunately…
“And you?” I ask, after she’s finished cussing at her fitted sheet.
“I think, for now, I’m sticking to our good old mundane-ass life. No bullets. No death.”
I chuckle. “Sounds nice.”
She goes quiet. “Because I want to be with you. Create me as you wish, but I need in, Ivy. I can’t have you sitting there alone. That’s not how this works. There’s just something... off with him. Both of them.”
Lucinda is Lucinda for a reason. She hears what people don’t say. Listens to the silence, watches the flinch, the pause, the delayed reaction, and picks away at it all until she’s left with whatever it is you’re hiding underneath. And she’s good at it.
“If you jump into this, you don’t get our foundation life yet.” Home base is the foundation life. We all built something outside the blood and bullets. It’s the lives waiting for us when we finally hang our holsters and sheath’s. Mine is the publishing house and Chicago. I’ve never had the guts to open my inner circle wider than my PA, but it’s there when I need to reset, or when I finally decide I’m done. There’s only one absolute, and that’s that our jobs never leak into that life.
This one is getting too fucking close. Parker was too close.
She holds her breath. “Then I won’t.”
There’s no way I’m winning this fight, not with all the time she now has to argue. “Fine!”
“Yes!” I can just see the triumph. “Also, hot Insta shots. Both last night, and now.”
I groan. “Last night was his sister’s doing.”
“Sounds like I’ll like her.” As if it’s hard to get Luce to like you.
She would. Too much…
“I’ll call you back. I need to go shower before Camille finds me and I put a matching bullet in her too.” I push up off the ground and head back through the main house. Without my pal rage keeping me warm, the cold feels a lot like ice melting in my lungs.
Stepping through the door, I try to shake my shivering when awareness prickles the back of my neck.
“Good workout?” His voice stops me, and I carefully slide the door closed.
I turn to face him. “Yes, actually.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Does he have to walk around shirtless, every line of ink on full display? Doesn’t help that I know what each one looks like from every angle.
He leans forward, abs tensing as he places a shaker on the coffee table. “How was the rest of your night?”
I shrug, doing my best to avert my gaze. “I slept.”