Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Sin drives like he was born with a steering wheel in his hands. One palm relaxed at the top, the other ready when the road curves. His gaze keeps moving, mirrors to road to horizon, a steady rhythm that makes my brain slow down even when my heart wants to sprint.
It’s night now. South Carolina is a ribbon of dark highway, pine trees and marshland fading into shadow. The dashboard lights paint Sin’s hands in soft green. He looks like a man who belongs in the dark. And somehow, that makes me feel safer, not more afraid.
I hate that my body trusts him.
I hate it because my body is never subtle about what it wants.
I keep my arms folded tightly across my chest, mostly to keep my thoughts contained. That does not work. Thoughts roam. They do not stay inside their assigned lanes.
My phone is gone. Burned, as far as my life is concerned. The new one Cal handed me sits dead in the center console like a replacement heart that hasn’t started beating yet.
We’re quiet for a long stretch. Sin’s idea of comfort is silence and control. My idea of comfort is talking until the fear gets bored and leaves. Tonight, I’m outmatched. Still, the question has been pressing at me since Cal pulled him away.
“You gonna tell me what Cal wanted to talk to you about?” I ask, trying for casual and landing somewhere around suspicious girlfriend.
Sin doesn’t look at me. “Operational.”
“I’m an operation now?”
“No.”
“What then?”
He exhales through his nose, the smallest sign he’s irritated. Or amused. With Sin, it’s hard to tell. Both emotions live in the same house, but different rooms. “Cal just asked about my family.”
I blink. “Your family?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he ask about your family?”
“Because my family is currently stepping on land mines that used to belong to someone else.”
I shift in my seat, turning toward him. “Sin.”
He keeps his eyes forward. “Rowan.”
“That’s not a real explanation.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
I should push. I’m good at pushing. It’s basically my brand. I have pushed powerful men into stammering messes on record. But this is different. This isn’t an interview. This is a car at night, miles of road ahead, and the man beside me is the difference between alive and not. And there’s something in his voice that says the subject is a scar. Not fresh, but deep.
So I adjust. I go softer. “Are you in danger too?” I ask.
His jaw flexes once. “I’m always in danger.”
“That’s a very you answer.”
He glances at me for half a second. In that brief look, I see it. Something guarded, something tired. Not fear. Not exactly. Weight. “My brothers are chasing a lead,” he says. “A family thing. Cal just wanted to know details.”
“And what are the details?” I ask.
He grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “They found a name tied to an old consultancy. A name that matters to us.”
I watch him, waiting. He doesn’t volunteer anymore.
“So Cal pulled you away to talk about… your brothers?” I ask carefully.
“And to remind me I can’t split my focus.”
“What did you say?”
He answers without looking at me. “That I can.”
A chill slides under my skin, because that’s the kind of confidence men have right before the universe tests them. “You don’t even know what you’re dealing with,” I say.
His voice stays calm. “Neither do you.”
Ouch. Fair.
We drive for another few minutes, the road humming under us. I try to ignore how my body keeps leaning toward him, like it’s seeking warmth. Like it’s seeking certainty.
Eventually I speak again, because I’m me and I can’t help it. “Where is this safe house?” I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate. “You’ll see.”
I stare at him. “That’s what kidnappers say.”
He flicks his gaze to me, expression flat. “Do you want to know the location or do you want to be safe?”
“I want both.”
“Pick one.”
“I hate you,” I mutter.
“Noted.”
I huff, then immediately regret it because it makes me sound like I’m twelve. The problem is, the fear is still there. It’s just… managed. Kept in a cage by the fact that Sin is beside me, steady as a metronome. Which is insane. I met him a few hours ago on an airstrip, and now my nervous system is acting like he’s my personal security blanket with biceps.
We take an exit I don’t recognize. The highway gives way to a narrower road lined with pines and darkness. No streetlights. Just Sin’s headlights cutting through the black.
The silence presses in.
I glance at him again. His profile is all angles and restraint, like he was carved out of stubborn stone. The dash lights pick out the faint scar on his cheek, the edge of his mouth, the concentration in his eyes.
My heart does a stupid little stumble. I swallow. Focus. Not the time.
The road turns into gravel. The car crunches forward, and my stomach knots because gravel roads at night are how horror movies begin. Then the trees part. A small airstrip appears, lit by sparse runway lights that look like they’ve been forgotten by civilization on purpose.