Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Yes,” I say. “Let’s do those things.”
We start walking, and Smith calls out, “If you hurt her, next time, I won’t let you take the gun. I’ll shoot you.”
Aaron halts, and I want to tug him forward, but it’s too late. He turns and eyes Smith. “If I hurt her, I’ll let you shoot me.”
Chapter forty
Ashley
The minute we’re back in our room, Aaron pulls me around, his hand settling on my neck, under my hair. “That game he’s playing is getting old. I’m losing patience.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“The last fucking thing I want is for you to talk to that man.”
“I’m the one he needs to hear it from. I’ll handle him.”
“He might be the better man, but I won’t apologize for taking you from him or for claiming you.”
“You didn’t take me from him. I was never his. You know that. I was yours the minute I met you.”
“He’s the better man. The life he can give you—”
“I’m not like him. I’m like you. I like that gun you put in my hand. I like the high of this life, even when it scares me. And you know it or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
I think he’ll argue, that he’ll deny what I’ve said, but he surprises me by saying, “I do know.” And just that fast, his mouth is on mine and we’re kissing, touching, fucking. When we’re finally naked, it’s with his gun on the bed next to us, and it turns me on. I’m done denying that fact. The dark, dangerous side of Aaron turns me on.
“He doesn’t see it,” he says, much later, when we stand under the hot spray of a shower together. “He doesn’t see what I see in you.”
I don’t ask who “he” is. He means Smith. “I was a secretary he was protecting, not a—whatever I am now.”
He cups my face and looks at me. “A badass. You’re a badass.”
I laugh. “You’re the badass.” I smile. “But maybe I’m a badass in training.”
We laugh, and it’s one of those moments I missed with him: the way we laugh together. The way we get each other. The way we can crawl into an experience together and just get lost there. I want to get lost with this man for the rest of my life. I just want us to do it willingly, not because we have to. I want the risks we take together, and apart, to be choices, not a forced response to a machine trying to run us over.
When we finally lay down in bed, with him on his back and me curled to his side, darkness engulfs us, but we don’t sleep. I can almost feel the ticking of a bomb about to explode. Tomorrow is not going to be just another day. I feel it, and I believe Aaron does, too. Tomorrow is either the end or the beginning of the rest of our lives.
I wake to sunshine trying to burn my eyeballs from my head and to an empty bed. Aaron is missing, and that’s enough to set my heart racing and have me scooting to the edge of the bed. My gaze lands on the nightstand where there rests a slender Ruger and a note. I grab the note: I’m downstairs, baby, but shoot Smith on sight. I laugh and stand up, realizing then that I’m naked. Aaron’s shirt is on the floor, so I grab it, pull it on and hurry to the door. Peeking outside, I find the hall empty, and I step outside to the railing. I immediately spy Aaron sitting at the island with Savage, Blake and another man I don’t know, all deep in some sort of easy debate. There’s no tension, and I can feel the way Aaron has relaxed into the relationship with Walker Security. From last night to now is night and day. This pleases me and not just because we need help. I don’t think Aaron has many people in his life he can call a friend, and I sense that underneath all this bristling, he and Savage could be friends. Even more so, he and Blake could be friends. I want this for Aaron. I want him to feel that he’s not an outsider to the rest of the world. He’s not alone.
I re-enter the bedroom and snag up my clothes, wishing for something fresh to put on, and then it hits me that Aaron had on black jeans and a black tee that are not the same clothes he had on last night. Obviously, someone lent him clothes. I walk into the bathroom, and there sits a pile of clothes for me. I grab the note on top that reads: From Blake’s wife. Pleased, I look through my options and the best bet for a fit seems to be a black jean skirt and a black lace blouse. There are matching black sneakers that, after a quick inspection, happen to be my size. There’s even a flat iron and makeup.