Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Of course, she’s panicked.
The poor girl hasn’t ever dealt with the law before, much less being a possible accomplice to property destruction. If my mother sweet-talks Bruce into sticking her with that.
I hope he’ll hold the line.
Regardless, I’m planning to take the fall.
I’ll shell out the money to replace Bruce’s gate myself.
With the big raid coming up, a good word from Sexton or Mr. Strauss will be enough to put any real consequences on hold till I come home. Operations that involve national security have their advantages.
If I come home.
I already made the call while she was sleeping. Sex bawled me out like I knew he would, inventing several new colorful ways to say jackass in the process.
Still, he’s more worried about me missing D-day than any distracting fuckery I’ve gotten myself into.
Delia was waking up as the call ended, that worry I hate brimming in her eyes.
I still want to fuck her. I always want to fuck this chick, through tragedy and triumph, morning, noon, and night. But I want her heart to stop galloping first, and I want to taste her lips on mine without any salty tears mixed in.
“Dammit,” she moans miserably, shaking her head for the thousandth time. “What if this was all a mistake? Chris, I have a bad feeling. What if Dad flips out over us? What if she talks him into pressing like criminal charges?”
My finger crosses her lips. I push down gently but firmly, right over the seam of her mouth.
“Quiet, babe. You’re working yourself into a frenzy. What-ifs are never worth it. As shitty as this is, I promise you it’ll blow over.”
“But—”
“Delia.”
“But Chris...”
Moving my finger aside, I kiss her deeply, only pulling away when I’m confident she’s done worrying herself sick.
“Fuck crisis mode. We’ll get through this, and I don’t want you telling me anything different unless you want to talk about what we’ll do when I’m home—or why the hell you still love me after I’ve put you through the grinder.”
Her mocha-brown eyes heat, warming the frostiness of her face.
She loosens the death grip on my neck, dragging her nails softly over my skin.
Even when we’re under the proverbial gun, every bit of me bristles.
Delia’s touch makes my blood sing.
And that beautiful, mad music of ours is still there, even with the entire world turning against us.
I can’t help it.
Pushing her face to mine, our lips collide with a hot, desperate hunger.
Every kiss is medicine, and I know she feels it too.
We need the reminder.
There’s nothing—goddamned nothing—that’ll ever come between us.
Not my junkie mother and her poison.
Not her spineless dad.
Not the bullets, the hostages, the fear, the certain hell I’ll be facing the minute Enguard sends us charging up Joaquin’s ass.
When she’s trembling, her whole body begging for breath, I break the kiss and lay my hands on both sides of her head.
I hold her face just like that, steadying, urging her to look at me and just be.
Be safe because you’re mine.
“You make it sound so easy,” she whispers. “I just need to know you’ll come home safe. I can’t handle this alone.”
“I will, woman. We’ll be out of this mess before you know it. Fucking count on it.” I kiss her again, these strange, crazy words boiling up from my gut. “I’m not drawing my last breath till you’re wearing my ring and we’ve got a couple kids in the family portrait.”
Her mouth trembles.
Her eyes crest with tears.
Only, this time there’s a smile behind her sadness, and that’s what I worship with my lips. I let her cry as we kiss for the better part of the next hour.
I never thought I’d ever be this happy making out like this, never even advancing to full-on horizontal heaven.
I think she believes me, too.
She’s had her faith in us restored, our future so sure—until there’s a fist banging at the door and gruff voices shouting.
“San Francisco PD! Open up!”
“Police!”
Shit.
It sure took them long enough.
We share one last long, agonizing look as I give her a parting kiss.
Then I take her soft hand in mine and we stand, walking together to face down one annoying bump in the road to ever after.
* * *
We say our last goodbyes through a window at the police station.
Delia walks past the room where they’re holding me first, a sour-looking Bruce a few steps ahead of her. First time I’ve seen her old man showing more emotion than a steamed turnip.
An hour later, I’m released to Sexton, who’s waiting outside in his old brown pickup. Guess it only took a call from the FBI agent working with Enguard to convince the boys with badges I’m too important to waste away in the drunk tank.
He drives me straight to the office and tells me he’s made arrangements to have my truck taken to a trusted chop-shop to fix the damage from crashing the gate.