Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
My cell vibrates in my pocket.
"Ignore it," Winter whispers, shifting her ass against my cock.
For a split second, I consider doing precisely that and then sigh. "It could be important, songbird. Let me take care of it, and then you can show me how dirty you can be for me."
She groans in protest, pressing her face against my throat.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, cursing when I see Riley's name on the display. If she's calling, there's no way it's anything I want to hear. She's basically a terrorist in stilettos. But she has Winter's best interests at heart and is firmly in her corner.
"Good morning, Riley," I say, putting the phone to my ear.
"You're in way too good of a mood," she complains. "I liked you better when you were cranky and didn't talk. You didn't annoy me nearly as much then."
Winter hears her and giggles.
"Rough morning?" I ask, smiling despite myself. I like Riley. She's feisty, but she hides a heart of gold underneath all that sass and sarcasm. No one who knows her has ever had a bad word to say about her. She inherited her company young and has used it to help change the face of country music. She knows her shit and takes no shit.
"I'll tell you about it when we get there," she says. "We're on the way. Detective Anderson is coming too." She pauses. I can feel the tension radiating down the line. "It's not good news, Ronan."
Fuck. I knew it was coming sooner or later, but I really fucking hoped it'd be later. Preferably after the fashion show tomorrow. I guess our luck has run out though.
"How far out are you?" I sigh.
"Fifteen minutes."
"We'll be ready."
Ty Anderson, Cash, and Riley pull into the driveway eighteen minutes later. Like usual, Cash is dressed down—a black t-shirt and jeans. Riley is dressed to kill. And Ty is in a suit, his gun in a shoulder holster. They look somber as they approach the front door.
Riley pulls Winter in for a hug, whispering something in her ear. Winter whispers something back, and then they hug again. Cash taps her on the nose, grinning at her. She gives him a tiny smile, anxiety written all over her face.
"Miss Pyke," Anderson says, in formal cop mode.
"Detective Anderson, please come in." She holds the door open wide for him, inviting him into my house. He steps through the door, taking a quick glance around before his gaze comes to me. "Captain Gallagher?"
"Retired," I mutter.
He jerks his chin in a nod. "Good to finally put a face to the voice."
"You too." He's exactly what I expected—mid-thirties, broad shoulders, clean-cut. His demeanor screams hard-ass cop.
"What's going on?" Winter asks, not wasting time.
I pull her into me, wrapping an arm around her waist.
Anderson's gaze flickers between the two of us—yeah, motherfucker, she's mine—before he focuses on her again, not commenting on the two of us. Smart of him. "Mrs. Jamison received another letter addressed to you last night, Miss Winters," he says calmly. "We have reason to believe it was from the individual responsible for what happened at the festival."
The color drains from Winter's face.
"Fuck," I growl, tugging her closer to me.
"W-what does it say?" she whispers.
Riley and Cash share a look.
"I don't think you should read it," Riley says gently. "It's just the ravings of a crazy person, Winter. It doesn't mean anything."
"What does it say?" she asks again, her voice stronger this time.
Riley looks at me.
I hesitate for a brief second and then reluctantly nod. I don't want her to read it either, but she has a right to know. It's her life, her choice. No one else gets to decide for her what she is or isn't strong enough to handle. No one gets to decide what she has a right to know about the things that impact her life. Besides, there may be something in it to help us figure out who the fuck sent it. She's the only one who can tell us if she recognizes anything in it.
Riley sighs and motions for Detective Anderson.
"This is a copy," he says, reaching into his breast pocket. "I've already sent the original off for testing. Hopefully, we can pull fingerprints or some sort of DNA since no one handled it. Mrs. Jamison called us as soon as she recognized the envelope." He passes the letter to Winter who accepts it with shaking hands.
I pull her in front of me, wrapping my arms around her waist so we can read it together. So I can hold onto her while she reads. I don't want her reading it alone. Fuck that. She doesn't do anything alone anymore.
How long will the wicked be jubilant when they're paying for their sins, Winter?
Return to righteousness or be destroyed with them.
Repent or dwell in the silence of death.