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)
Viper approaches, offering an image on his tablet. “This is Brianna Thomas.” A thin brunette, older-looking than the woman on the cot. He tilts his head toward the room. “No idea who she is yet, but I’m on it.”
Grizz’s jaw is set. “We swept the property. No tracks. No one followed us in.”
Much more has gone on that he has no need to report. Deadbolts locked, alarms set, property under surveillance.
When I return to our mystery woman, her body is curled inward, knees tucked close.
She doesn’t know it yet, but whatever she was running from, she’s no longer facing it alone.
CHAPTER 4
KIRA
I’m walking down a long corridor dressed in my beautiful gown, my heart skittering with excitement despite the persistent first-trimester fatigue.
I’m poised to knock on the partially open door of the room where Preston’s getting ready for the ceremony, when the word assassination stops me mid-motion.
I go still and listen.
“What about the contractor? The one handling the package in Colombia? He’s waiting on confirmation.”
It isn’t Preston’s voice, and I’m sure I must have the wrong room, but something tells me to keep listening.
Then I hear my fiancé. “Tell him it’s on. Once the journalist is out of the way, the subcommittee will get in line.”
The other man chuckles. “You government guys play rough.”
Preston’s tone is sharp, the way it gets when he’s angry. “You outsource, and we take the heat. Your DOD guy already buried the requisition report, so don’t act like you’re doing me a favor.”
DOD? A wave of nausea hits me, and it has nothing to do with the pregnancy.
“Are the transfers aimed at the Vaughn Foundation account?” the other man asks.
“For now. Once the election’s over, we go offshore.”
My mind races. Fund transfers? A DOD cover-up? A hit on a journalist?
“What about your blushing bride? She have any clue what you’re running?”
There’s an ugly smirk in Preston’s tone. “Of course not. She looks pretty and smiles for the cameras. That’s all I need her for.”
My heart pounds in my throat. Foreign deals. The Vaughn Foundation. What is he mixed up in?
“If she ever finds out how deep this goes, she’ll be signing her own death certificate.” Preston’s voice is like granite.
Without realizing it, I’d been holding my breath, and it suddenly bursts out of me in an involuntary gasp.
The conversation stops all at once.
I start to sneak away, my stomach churning as a rush of dizziness hits me.
An old floorboard in the mansion creaks with my first step, and the door swings open.
Preston’s polished, photo-op-ready smile dissolves into a flat expression. He transforms into a man I don’t know.
The scene cuts to the bridal prep room.
Gasping for breath, I grab for my phone when Preston bursts in. “Kira. Stop.”
I shake my head, backing away from him until I bump into the vanity. “My god, Preston, what are you involved in?”
My fiancé, so elegant in his suit pants, shirt, and tie. He always looks so handsome that I can’t believe he’s mine, but now, he’s a stranger. A dangerous one.
He closes the door behind him. There’s a sinister quiet to his movements that turns me ice cold.
“What are you mixed up in? Selling weapons?”
His jaw ticks, and something in him snaps.
He advances toward me, not with a senator’s graceful control, the polished stride of a man who spends his days shaking hands and kissing babies. Not with the warmth of a lover.
He’s predatory and swift, his eyes obsidian. “You shouldn’t have been listening.”
He grabs my arm and tugs me toward him.
“Preston, no!” I shield my stomach with my other arm as he slams me backward into the dressing table. The mirror rattles, bottles topple, and the expensive perfume he’d given me for our special day falls to the floor and shatters, enveloping me in suffocating fumes.
Fear cracks my chest wide open as he studies me with icy detachment. He’s trying to decide how difficult it will be to silence me.
I twist away and he shoves me. Hard.
My dress tears on a drawer handle, and I nearly lose my balance.
My vision goes blood red.
How could he? How could he risk hurting his child?
I find my footing and charge toward him, swinging. I aim for his jaw, and it feels like my fist hits bone. I kick out at him, scratch, throw another punch, but he catches my fist in his.
He hits me. Once, twice. Not hard enough to knock me out, but enough to daze me, and make my cheek flare with a pain that brings tears to my eyes.
“Stop! The baby!”
His fingers dig into my flesh as he grabs my jaw and forces me to look at him. “Do you think they care about that? Do you think I have a choice after what you’ve heard?” His breath smells like whiskey. His face is red with rage. “You stupid, nosy woman—”