Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry, Amanda,” Ambrielle said after introductions were made. “I have to go.”
“I can make certain she gets home safe,” Marcus volunteered immediately before Adam could say anything.
“You certain?” Adam asked. “Amanda, you okay with that arrangement? Otherwise, I can stay for another half an hour.”
“I’m comfortable with it,” Amanda assured him and kissed her brother on the cheek.
* * *
Ambrielle tossed her gloves onto the small table next to the coatrack by the front door of her parents’ home. She almost called out to them, but her father always hated her doing that. He’d been telling her since she was a little child she needed to act with more decorum. She couldn’t help smiling thinking about her father, with his perfect posture and firm-spoken commands.
He’d been certain he would have sons. At least four of them. He told her all the time. Every chance he got. The corners of his eyes would crinkle, and his face would get soft. She could see the love for her there because he never bothered to hide it. Then he’d say, four sons would never add up to his little fairy princess. He’d roar with laughter when he’d say it. She was five foot two, and there was no princess in her. Sometimes he’d call her a sprite. Sprites could be mischievous and even mean.
Her mother would gently correct him and say naughty, not mean. Ambrie knew she could be mean. She detested bullies, and she ran into them quite often. Being female, five foot two and having more than generous curves although she worked out like a crazy person—including running, which in her opinion was for nutters—she ran into more than her fair share of bullies. Fortunately, she was born with a very large brain, and her parents had insisted from the time she was a very young child that she use it. They gave her every opportunity for an education, sending her to the best schools or providing the best tutors when they moved from place to place. They also insisted she learn how to handle weapons—in the plural.
She walked down the hallway to the cozy sitting room her parents insisted on calling their library. They loved to read and had instilled that love in her. The moment she stepped into the room, she realized they weren’t alone, and the tension inside could be cut with a knife.
There were six men in the room with her parents, all standing, all wearing suits, and others scattered around the house. They didn’t give off a warm, friendly vibe. She could tell immediately they weren’t military. Her mother’s face was pale. Her father looked as if he wanted to whip out a gun and clear the room. Instead, the hand that was lying loosely on top of the arm of his chair lifted a scant inch, and he waved her off.
She hovered in the doorway, one foot already moving back. “I’m sorry, Dad. I had no idea you had company. I can come back later.” She took a step back and blew a kiss to her mother.
“Stay, Ambrielle,” one of the men protested. His voice was deep. Amused. “We were waiting for you. Dobbs sent for you, right?”
She had taken a second step back when four of the men followed her into the hall, two moving behind her in order to halt her progress. She frowned at them. Charles Dobbs had sent for her. She had the text message from him in her phone. Was it real?
“What is this?” One of the men glided close to her as if he might grab her arm. She gave him her haughtiest look. “Don’t even think about touching me. Dad? What’s going on?”
“Your father was just discussing how he was going to give you a huge present on your wedding day, Ambrielle. Come back into the room.”
She glared at the pushiest of the men. He towered over her and smirked when she glared at him, making a show of pulling his suit jacket back so she could see his gun. She rolled her eyes, unimpressed, but deep inside, tension coiled as she returned to the sitting room. She started to go to her parents, but the man in charge caught her arm and brought her to a halt.
“I’m Walker Thompson.” He said it as if she should know his name. He was medium height, which meant he still had several inches on her. His hair was brown, the same as his eyes. He appeared to be around forty. He was fit and carried himself as if he was used to everyone deferring to him.
Thompson had several bodyguards surrounding him. Those men were concerned with Thompson. The other four men were concerned with her parents—and her. The four appraising her and her parents looked to be hard, made of stone. The one closest to her clearly was the one in charge of the other three. He was the one that gave off the most dangerous vibe.