Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“I feel like I do, in a way.” Her focus shifts to the distant treeline, and she’s silent for a minute, before saying, “I’m not just living for myself anymore. Everything I do affects my child.”
When I don’t say anything, she goes on. “I want my son or daughter to have a normal childhood. Friends. School. Maybe even a yard to play in. It can’t happen if I’m always looking over my shoulder.” She hesitates. “Do you think that’s possible? With everything that’s going on?”
I consider my answer carefully. “Yes,” I say, finally. “We’re going to make it possible.”
She kicks at a clump of snow with the tip of her boot. “You say that like it’s a fact.”
“It will be.”
When I glance at her a moment later, tears are sparkling in her eyes. Her voice wobbles, and my throat thickens. “Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For everything you’re doing behind the scenes. You’re the reason we have a plan, and I wouldn’t be alive without you. You’re risking a lot to do it, too.”
Before I can respond, she touches my arm with the tips of her fingers, and a jolt shoots through me.
It’s not lust, though I’m not immune to her beauty. To the ripe fullness of her hips. The soft swell of her breasts.
But what's hitting me now is something far more dangerous.
“You don’t owe me thanks,” I manage. “I’m just doing my job.”
She curls her fingers around the sleeve of my jacket. “You’re doing a lot for me, and I feel so much safer because of it.”
This woman is putting her trust in me with no hesitation.
“You shouldn’t do that,” I tell her, swallowing hard.
She pulls her hand back, looking hurt. “Do what?”
“Put your trust in someone so easily.”
She draws in a breath and meets my eyes again. “It isn’t easy,” she whispers. “Not anymore. But I still trust you.”
She looks at me for a few more seconds, chin up, proud. Finally, she turns and walks off, leaving me standing there with a shaky pulse as old instincts come roaring back to life. Not the violent ones that were trained into muscle memory, but the protective ones I buried after leaving the Corps.
There’s something about this woman. Her quiet dignity, her resilience, the fierce hopes she has for a child she hasn’t even met yet. She still has faith, even though fear would be more logical after what she’s been through.
All of it makes me want to be worthy of the trust she’s placed in me.
And that’s more terrifying than the enemy outside our walls.
CHAPTER 13
KIRA
“Kira? Got a minute?”
Atlas is outside my bedroom door, respectfully knocking on the frame, even though the door is open.
“Sure. C’mon in.” I’m arranging new clothes he ordered for me into neat piles. I hadn’t needed anything new, but now with more outfits, I won’t have to do my laundry as often.
He steps in, one hand behind his back, a look on his face I’ve never seen before. He’s hesitant, which is very unlike the Atlas I’ve gotten to know.
“What’s going on? You look like you’re about to tell me you ran out of coffee.”
“We’d evacuate before that happened.” He holds out a small shipping box. “We’re going into town tomorrow. All of us.”
A wave of panic ripples through me. “Into town?”
I was an active resident down in the city, regularly going out to eat and taking in all the entertainment, at least before Preston started cutting me off from my friends. I went to plenty of events with him, too, and hardly ever sat home, but the thought of leaving this mountain compound has my heart racing.
“Why, and what’s that?” The open box holds a few smaller boxes and a plastic package with something dark inside.
“I’m sure you’re due to see a doctor—” His eyes drop to my midsection. “I got an appointment for you at the clinic in Moon Ridge.” He pushes the box toward me. “This is your disguise.”
When I hesitate to take it, he says, “We don’t have intel that anyone’s sniffing around the area, but I prefer to be careful. There’s a wig, sunglasses, and some makeup.” Atlas makes broad gestures on his face. “Maybe you can darken your eyebrows, change your coloring. Whatever magic you women do with this stuff.”
He’s uncomfortable with the whole conversation, and I can’t help but giggle. “You ordered me a new face?”
“I suppose you could say that, though your real one’s fine.”
Fine. He makes it sound like a glowing compliment.
I set the box on the corner of the bed and unpack the items. The wig is chestnut brown, shoulder length and stick-straight, in contrast to my blonde waves. The sunglasses are oversized with reflective lenses, and the makeup kit is a large pan palette of a few blush colors and several eyeshadows. It’s not the type of makeup meant for contouring or changing my skintone. I finally found the one area where these men aren’t experts.