Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I’ve always known there was an attraction between us, and over the years, watching her cheeks flush every time I called her Morticia was always the highlight of my day, but I never could have anticipated what it would grow into.
She’s my whole fucking world. Every breath I take belongs to her. I just hope that after a long life together, she outlives me, because I can’t fathom the idea of ever having to live without her.
After tugging my shirt over my head and dropping it to the floor, I release the buckle on my belt and let my pants fall. Then, after stepping out of them, I slide straight into bed and wrap my arm around Harper’s slender body before pulling her against my chest.
She stirs just enough to adjust herself, getting comfortable next to me as she rests her head on my chest. Her long strands of hair are still a little damp from the shower she must have taken after work.
“Mmmm, love you,” she murmurs against my chest, her fingers curling around my biceps and snuggling it into her like a teddy bear.
“Sleep, doll.”
Harper gently shakes her head against me, her eyes fluttering before closing again. “Make me,” she says, her voice thick with sleep, sounding a little hoarse and making me wonder if she’s starting to get a bit of a sore throat. “How was work? Did you get the bad guy?”
“I always get the bad guy,” I tell her, my hand falling to her waist and gently squeezing. “But it was fine. An easy one.”
“Easy?” she scoffs. “You’re not trying to placate me, are you? I saw the headlines already. It’s splashed all over local news stations. Attempted armed jewelry heist. Hostage situation. Trading gunfire like Pokémon cards. An execution-style shooting. That doesn’t sound easy.”
“Really, it was nothing,” I tell her, definitely playing it down, but I don’t want her worrying about me every time I leave the house. “We were in and out in a matter of seconds.”
“And by in you mean flying off the roof of a high-rise building and crashing through the window.”
Well, shit. I’m going to have a word with these journalists. They’re putting way too many details into these stories. Usually, I wouldn’t care. They tend to make me and the boys sound like the heroes of Blackstone, but now that I have Harper, I don’t need her getting hung up on the details and worrying about me. “We didn’t technically crash through the window. We blew it up with explosives and then appropriately timed a quick drop-in to say hello.”
“And by a quick drop-in to say hello, I’m assuming you’re not referring to catching up with an old friend for a coffee and cake?”
A grin tears across my face. “Put it this way, you’re going to have a busy shift down at that morgue tomorrow.”
“Shit,” she mutters. “How many?”
“Five,” I tell her. “Six, if you include the CEO.”
Harper’s head springs up off my chest, her jaw hanging open. “Six? Holy shit,” she breathes. “Isn’t the goal to have as little bloodshed as possible?”
I shrug. “I mean, yeah. But they started it,” I tell her. “I was more than happy to try and negotiate those hostages out of there, but they weren’t big on talking.”
Harper shakes her head. “Jesus. It’s a wonder you’re all still alive. How the hell do you manage to get everyone out without a scratch?”
I cringe, trying to figure out how to change the topic, but Harper is a fucking pro when it comes to reading me, and she clocks the cringe quicker than it’s even fully formed across my face.
“What?” she says, sitting bolt upright with concern in her eyes. “What happened? Did someone get hurt?”
I let out a long breath, the guilt of Diesel’s injury resting on my shoulders. Even knowing that he’d want to beat the shit out of me if he knew I’d blabbed, I can’t help it. My team is my responsibility. If they get hurt, it’s on me. It’s my job to ensure their safety, and when I can’t do that, it means I’ve failed.
“Diesel,” I say. “He was shot.”
“WHAT?” Harper’s eyes widen in horror, and I realize she has assumed the worst. She’s likely picturing him in emergency surgery and bleeding out, but I can’t blame her for it. Every time she leaves the house, she seems to end up in emergency surgery. It’s becoming the norm.
“Shit. Sorry, doll. I should have been clearer. Diesel’s fine. More pissed off than hurt,” I explain, brushing my fingers down the side of her face, trying to soothe her fears. “The bullet grazed his arm and went straight through. He just needed a few stitches, but he wasn’t happy about it.”
“Holy shit,” she says, her hand over her heart. “I thought he was dead.”