Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
"Not always," I murmur. "Sometimes I did what the fuck I wanted to do."
"Two sides of the same shield," he tosses back at me, pulling to a stop at an intersection near the elementary school where January works.
My eyes immediately turn in that direction like I can see her in there or something. I can't though. I haven't set eyes on her in over a week and it's slowly driving me out of my mind. I just need to see her so I know she's okay. I'll give her space for as long as I can stand it, but I need to know she's not torturing herself with guilt that doesn't belong to her.
"Karma is a bitch for some of these motherfuckers," Roman murmurs as he pulls off. "The three who murdered Jana and Titan James deserve to rot in hell for what they did. You though? Different fucking story, Kincaid. You may think you're some monster, but you've saved more people in seven years than most cops could in two lifetimes. And we both know you did it to keep some other family from going through what your girl went through because of Adams, Adcock, Cortez, and Curtis Kaleo." The way he puts all their names together makes it pretty clear he knows a hell of a lot more about my past than he's let on.
"How much do you know?" I ask him, grinding my palm against my chest like always. You'd think I'd have learned by now that it doesn't make shit hurt less. You'd also think I'd know not to confess my sins to another cop, especially one like Roman, bound by duty and obligation and his own sense of responsibility…but I want to confess anyway, lay all my sins out so they stop weighing so goddamn heavily on me.
"Enough," he says, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
"How long have you known?"
"Since Curtis Kaleo hit my radar about six years ago." He turns onto my street, and we creep past the park.
The grass is green and inviting. The equipment is still in working order. January's worked her ass off keeping trash off this street. I'm proud as hell of her for it. She thinks she isn't strong, but she's fierce when it comes to defending what's hers. She always has been.
"He kept trying to get into the gun game," Roman says, "but no one would deal with him. He's a fucking moron, and everyone knows it. He went running to Bennie Bones, offering to trade him girls for guns."
"That shady motherfucker," I growl, pissed he was back in the game that soon after I left. I should have been checking in on him, making sure he was playing by the rules.
"Said he needed firepower in case the Diablos came after him for some shit that went down," Roman continues like I didn't say anything. "He was convinced they were going to kill him, but they never even spared him a second glance. I did some digging, found out enough to convince me to stop fucking looking."
"Why?"
"Like I said, some people get what the fuck is coming to them," he mutters. "You were already doing your thing in Seattle, taking down people like the Diablos and Kaleo. Seemed to me justice was served."
I open my mouth and then close it, losing what I was going to say when my gaze falls on January's house. She's home.
Mariah's car is in the driveway. They're standing beside it, talking. January looks good. She's dressed in a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt, her hair pulled up in a ponytail. She doesn't see me at first. I stare at her, too greedy to move my eyes away. She looks like an angel, so fucking perfect.
My chest pulses, and my cock stirs. Christ, I miss her. I just want to hold her. Kiss her. Never fucking let her go ever again. But I can't do that. Not yet. Not until I know whether or not I'm going to prison for murder. Until then, I have to keep my promise and keep my distance.
She turns like she feels my gaze on her. Our eyes lock, those bright emerald eyes stripping me bare. She appears stronger, less fragile. Like maybe she's been facing some demons of her own and has finally realized she's always been strong enough to do it.
I'm so goddamn in love with her that it borders on obsessive. I don't even care, though. For her, I'll gladly be a lovesick puppy. I'll follow her anywhere, anytime. All she has to do is crook her finger, and I'm hers. I always have been. I'm pretty fucking certain I always will be.
Not yet, I remind myself. Not yet.
By some miracle, I manage to tear my gaze from hers. As soon as she's no longer in my sights, I feel cold and adrift. She's always been the sun, anchoring me in ways I still don't understand.