Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Seven feet tall, he moves like a predator, no wasted movement, always calculating, always ready.
I follow after him, and then his men spill in behind me.
We walk deeper and deeper into the warehouse.
I try to ready myself to face my Dad.
Chapter Seventeen
Arturo
We meet in what must have once been the manager’s office, a room at the top of the warehouse that overlooks the main work area. It’s been gutted, the floor exposed, the walls covered in graffiti that looks surreal in the high-beam lights Franco’s men brought with them. The only furniture is the foldout chairs arranged in the center of the room, but we all remain standing.
Franco looks much more tired than the last time I saw him, his hair combed over his bald head, his once bright blue eyes dull and worn. He wears a baggy leather jacket that doesn’t cover the way he’s let his body go, every part of him soft.
It pains me to see my once-fierce friend fallen so clearly.
“Aida, come here,” Franco says, glancing at me and then his daughter, his mouth tight.
Part of me shivers in primal panic as the insane thought thunders into me that this has all been a trick, that Aida’s been playing me this whole time and now she’s going to return to her father.
But when I look at her – her loose-fitting jeans and hoodie doing nothing to hide that curvy-as-hell body, her hair pulled into a ponytail that only accentuates her beauty – I see that she’s standing firm. She turns to me, giving me one of her cute smiles, her eyes wide.
“I can’t do that,” she says, turning back to Franco.
Franco scowls. “Arturo, what the fuck is this? What have you done to her? What have you got on her?”
“Dad, you need to answer some questions,” Aida says.
Franco sighs growingly. “Is this some sort of a trick?”
“Dad,” Aida says firmly. “You need to tell me if you killed Arturo’s men, the murders that started this war. I deserve to know the truth. All my life, you’ve kept me in the dark. And maybe there was a time when I was okay with that. But not anymore.”
Franco makes a huffing noise and throws his hands up.
“It’s complicated,” he snaps.
“What’s complicated?” she hisses, the fire in her voice filling me with pride.
For the thousandth time – I’ll never get tired of it – I think about what an incredible mother she’s going to make, a mother bear fit to defend our children, to fight for them, to always keep them safe from the dangers of this world.
“Does it have something to do with the government agency? The one that ordered my kidnapping?”
“Wait, what?” Franco snaps.
He looks at me as if I’m holding something back.
Years fall away and I see the boy I’ve known since I first had memories, the innocent, carefree expression he once held, the way he’d always hold onto my every word, the little brother I never had.
I think he senses it, too.
He winces and turns back to his daughter as if the past is too painful.
“What are you talking about, Aida?” he snarls. “How do you know he wasn’t behind that? It was Arturo...wasn’t it?”
“No,” I say, as softly as I can, even as thunder threatens to erupt into my voice at the prospect that I’d cause any harm to come to my queen.
“How do you know it was him then?”
“Who’s him?” Aida and I snap at the same time.
We stop, exchanging a glance. The corner of her lip twitches, as though she’s having the same problem I always have around her, trying to maintain a shield of gruff coldness when all I want to do is cheer and roar about how much I love her.
Love her.
The revelation hammers into me.
I almost shout it right now.
Only Franco’s presence stops me.
“He’ll kill me if I talk,” Franco murmurs, finally dropping into one of the foldout chairs as if all the energy has been sucked out of him.
“Who, Dad?” Aida asks, softer now.
We move closer to the chairs, and then take the two that are closest together without needing to discuss it. We both silently know that being together is better than being apart.
I can scent her above the reek of the warehouse, her just-Aida smell, her hormones and pheromones, and the sweet tempting tendrils of her womb, begging for more of my seed.
I love everything about her.
“Dad,” Aida pleads. “This person, whoever he is, he ordered Elmo to kidnap me.”
“Where is Elmo, anyway?” Franco asks, looking around as if our old friend might appear.
“They took him,” I snarl. “Whoever these people are, they arranged a hit on the detox cells and they took him. And they killed one of my men in the process. I thought it might be you—”
“No,” Franco says passionately. “Even if we parted ways, Arturo, I always followed the code. I never killed needlessly. I never killed, full-fucking-stop, not when it could be avoided. Rapists, monsters who laid their hands on children … but never for the sake of it.”