Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“Where?”
“Can’t say.” He hands me another phone. “Call your parents. Don’t give anything away. Lie.”
I stare at it for a few seconds before taking it.
“Lie like your life and theirs depends on it.”
“Because it does?” I glance up at him.
“I’m the best at what I do.”
He kills people. Is that something to brag about?
“Me too,” I say with a shrug.
It takes him a minute, but when he gets it, he hums in agreement. “You’re brilliant. A virtuoso.” He drags his middle finger down my nose, the pads of his other fingers closing my eyes. That finger lingers on my lower lip while he ducks his head. “Exceptional in every way,” he whispers before kissing me.
Our noses rub together after the soft kiss.
“I …” The words catch in my throat because they scare me.
He scares me. Losing him terrifies me. So maybe I save myself—my heart—if I don’t say it.
Jack narrows his eyes, waiting for me to finish.
I smile, keeping my gaze on his chest while I rest my hands on it. “I will wait here like you asked me to do.”
He doesn’t seem to buy it or press me on it. With a slight nod, he turns, slides on his holster, grabs his computer, and leaves me with an aching heart and an unspoken declaration of love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JACKSON
“It’s time to disappear for a few weeks,” Jackson says to his sister the second she answers the phone.
“Are you still paranoid or has something changed?” Jessica sounds condescending.
“I took out three of his bodyguards.”
“Why?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just disappear for a while.”
“Because of her?”
“Her? Are you referencing yourself? Livy? Surely, not just Francesca.”
“So much for an easy target.”
“Archer’s never been an easy target,” he snaps.
“Because your paranoia has made it so difficult.” Jessica sighs.
“Paranoia? Like how everyone called me paranoid after my wife died in an accident that wasn’t an accident? Had I followed my gut on it, I would have been more protective with Livy.”
“More protective? I think the only way you could have been more protective would have been to lock her in a safe.”
“Exactly.”
“Jackson … stop.”
He blows a long breath, passing several bikers while noticing he’s driving twenty over the speed limit. The bikers flip him the bird in his rearview mirror. “Frankie got in over her head with Archer, so I had to step in.”
“And you took out three of his men, but not him? How? Why?”
“I had to extract her before I could get access to him. The point is, if taking out his tires didn’t already alert him that he’s dealing with one of his own, three clean shots taking out his men left no room for speculation.”
“We’ll disappear, but not for long. End this.”
Jackson rubs his temples while his other hand remains white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “I’m tired … so fucking tired.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Just come home alive.”
“I don’t …” He bites his lips together.
“You don’t what?”
“I don’t care about that. Not like I used to. If I can give Livy the opportunity for a normal life again, that’s all that matters.”
“She won’t want it if you’re not in it.”
Jackson knows she’s right. He also knows Jessica, of all people, has been in his position. Worse. Jessica has endured so much worse.
“Love you,” he says in defeat.
“Alive, Jude,” she calls him by his given name when she needs him to know she’s serious. “Understood?”
He lets up on the gas while passing the stone-embellished sign at Rhodale’s city limits. “I’ve always understood. It’s all about luck.”
“Jude—”
“Disappear, Jess.” He ends the call.
Archer’s at his office. Jackson gives a little more breathing room today instead of taking his usual parking spot across the street. Archer knows he’s a target. His new security detail outside of the building has doubled in size and no longer carries concealed weapons. They have automatic rifles gripped in their hands—presidential-level detail with earpieces and bulletproof vests.
“I’m fucked,” Jackson mumbles.
Maybe Livy lives on an island for the rest of her life. He’d have a better chance of threading a carrot into a cockroach’s vagina than getting a clean shot of Archer.
Hours later, a group of six men in suits exit the building. Archer’s in the center of the cluster, an impossible target. He gets into the middle of the three SUVs, and they pull away from the curb in a motorcade.
Jackson follows them to Archer’s house. The middle SUV pulls into a garage, closing the door behind it. Shades block every window in the place. He doesn’t anticipate Archer hanging out on his deck barbecuing anytime soon, so he heads back to the motel.
When he opens the door, Frankie doesn’t move. She’s asleep with Wheel of Fortune on the TV. He kicks off his boots and slides into bed with her, spooning her backside and nuzzling his face in her hair while his arm snakes around her waist.