Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
"Jesus Christ." I laugh quietly. "What's his name?"
"Thomas Huntington."
"You think his company is behind the attacks?"
"Probably," she sighs heavily. "Others have been out here, asking me to sell, but they aren't nearly as insistent as Huntington and Ransom Oil have been. The really my land. Probably because their stocks are tanking. The last few wells they put up in the area didn't do well."
"Why are they so sure yours will?"
"You mean you don't know?" She blinks wide eyes at me like a little owl in the dark. "Granny and Pa struck oil on the property way back in the sixties when they were digging a reservoir."
"They never did anything with it?"
Hope shakes her head. "They didn't care about the oil. Pa was a farmer. He didn't want anyone out here stripping the land to mine it for oil. When he died, Granny made sure she kept her promise to him." Her eyes flash in the dark, her expression fierce. "I intend to keep my promise too. They can have the oil over my dead body."
I growl at her words, getting all up in her personal space. "No one is going to hurt you to get your land, Hope," I vow, my protective instincts roaring at the thought. If Huntington and Ransom Oil are trying to kill her to get her property, they picked the wrong woman. This one is mine. I'll destroy their fucking company myself before I let them harm her.
But I'm not convinced it's them, not yet. Silas Wembley was a little too fucking comfortable showing up here uninvited. Hope may not have noticed the way he looked at her, but I sure as fuck did. The bastard is in love with her, or thinks he is, anyway. Would he put her through all of this just so he could play her hero? Maybe. It wouldn't be the first time someone did something nine shades of fucked up to try to push someone into their arms.
I'll run his name and Huntington by Dillon tomorrow and see what he has to say. I'll also ask Finn Taylor, a close friend of Cormac's to look into Ransom Oil and Silas. If there's anything to find, Finn will find it. There's nothing he can't do with a computer.
"Come on, Firefly." I lace my fingers through Hope's, pulling her toward the house again. "That bubble bath is calling your name."
Chapter Six
Callum
I'm nearly asleep when glass shatters downstairs, bringing me wide awake. I sit bolt upright in the bed, reaching for the gun I tucked inside the nightstand beside me. I grab my cell with the other, shooting a quick text to Grizz.
Me: 911. Send back-up to Hope's.
I don't explain the situation. I don't have to explain. He's worked personal security long enough to know that a 911 text means act now, ask questions later. He's good people.
I climb from the bed as soon as I'm done typing the text, and stride toward the bedroom door, moving on silent feet. I don't turn on lights. Don't need them. I slip through the dark like a ghost, moving silently as I make my way across the hall to Hope's bedroom.
"Don't shoot me, Firefly," I breathe into the dark when Kieve growls a soft warning at me, alerting me to the fact that they're already awake. I'm guessing my girl was awake as soon as she heard the glass break. I'm also guessing she's armed.
Hope isn't a delicate little flower. She's more than capable of taking care of herself. She's a queen. But she has me now. She doesn't have to handle anything alone, especially not some motherfucker breaking into her house.
"Callum?" she whispers.
"You and Kieve stay here, Firefly. I've got back-up on the way."
"You can't go out there alone." The tremor in her voice breaks my fucking heart. How many times has she been through this alone? Scared as hell, but facing it on her own? Whoever is out there better fucking pray I don't catch them.
"Stay here, baby. Don't make me spank your gorgeous ass," I warn her before slipping out of the door without waiting for a response. We'll spend all night arguing if I let her. She doesn't take orders. Not yet. She'll learn eventually to give up a little of that control she clings to with both hands.
I slip down the hall, listening for any little sound, but none come. Where did the breaking glass come from? The living room? Kitchen? I don't know. I creep down the stairs, my gun aimed low.
The nightlight in the living room allows me to clear the room quickly before moving into the dining room. I nearly have a fucking heart attack when my reflection appears in the reflective glass of the china cabinet.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I whisper to myself before moving into the kitchen. Glass litters the floor beneath the back door where a rock was thrown through it, but it's still locked. I carefully clear the room, checking the pantry, the mudroom, and the laundry room anyway.