Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“No. Fuck no. Julian ordered a hit on you.”
“I’ll be safe on the plane.”
“I can’t get on that plane with you without Brock figuring out I’m there.”
“No, you’re pretty easy to spot, Creed.”
“I can’t protect you, so, no.”
“Based on what I saw of you and the wind last night, you can be with me until I board. Maybe even on board. And you will be there when I land. And then I’m done. Then I’ll go to Sunrise City. Creed, be logical. This isn’t about us. It’s about the world. It’s about innocent people. You can protect me. You’ll be right there.”
“Knowing what is happening and being able to stop it are two different things.”
“The only time you won’t be able to get to me is when I’m on the actual flight. Creed—”
His hands come down on my face, and he tilts my gaze to his. “You will never do anything like this again. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I don’t want to do this, but we both know it’s necessary.”
He just holds me like that, seeming to fight an internal war, before he kisses me—a wild, hot kiss—and then sets me away from him. “I need three minutes to get dressed.”
Chapter Nine
Addie
Creed is dressed by the time I’ve sealed my suitcase and slid my phone into my pants pocket. I glance at the clock. “I have to hurry. I’m so late.” I head for the door.
Creed catches my arm and turns me back to him. “I couldn’t tell you. It would have put you at risk.”
“Creed—”
“I’m telling you this because you’re about to be with Brock. You’re readable, Addie. You have to try hard not to be.”
My heart thunders in my chest. There is so much between us to be discussed, but I have to live through the next few hours to ever allow us the chance. “Yes. I will. Okay. Creed, I have to go.”
“I fucking want to kiss you so badly it hurts, but I’m afraid of turning your eyes again.”
“It will, but I wish you could, too.”
He folds me to him, pressing his forehead to mine. He is warm and right in every way, and I cannot believe I doubted him. “I’ll be close,” he promises, his hand stroking my hair, and I swear I feel him everywhere, and it’s dangerous. My eyes… “I’ll be listening,” he adds.
“Good,” I whisper. “I need you to be close.” I push out of his arms. “I’ll see you soon.” I open the door, and I don’t look back.
Once I’m in the hallway, I’m darn near running toward the elevator, determination in my steps. I will not cower or hide from Julian. I will help end him. I will copy Brock’s hard drive, no matter what it takes to make that happen.
Halfway down the hallway, I manage to hoist my computer bag on my shoulder, and nervous about my eyes, I dig my sunglasses from my purse, just for safety measures. I slide them in place just as the elevator opens, thankful to step inside, but any relief I feel is doused by the sudden feeling of nausea that washes over me.
Oh God. This is not good.
It’s the lifebond illness, and based on documented histories, it’s brutal. It also suggests my body wants to bond with him without the blood exchange. It appears inevitable, which is a whole complicated sidenote.
The car zips quickly to ground level, and I rush to the bathroom to check my eyes, and thankfully they’re still looking normal and green, albeit a bit glassy. I’m okay. I’m okay. I can do this. I exit the bathroom and rush to the lobby, quickly spotting Brock standing near the bell desk, and in typical him style, he’s dressed in tan slacks and a button down with a military-issue tan tie.
I walk toward him, forced to endure the far-too-intimate inspection of a man who plans to kill me. Bastard. At this point, my sunglasses are in my hand, but I yearn to place them on my face and hide my eyes. But I also fear how suspicious that might look.
“Morning,” Brock greets as I join him, pushing off the bell desk as I step in front of him. “You look like walking death.”
My face goes slack at the comment—and the obvious double meaning he won’t know I understand. And it pisses me off to no end; my reply is barely outside of hostile. “I thought they taught you military men more manners than that,” I say, shoving my sunglasses onto my face, my nerve endings prickling with the sudden awareness that Creed is nearby. “Migraine,” I explain. “And no, it’s not a good morning. Not a good night, for that matter.” I crinkle my nose. “I left my drugs at home too, so it won’t be a good ride home either. Pity for you, sitting next to me. I’ll try to use the doggy bag and not your lap.” I’m definitely aiming for his lap, I think.