Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Cigar man immediately tries to scramble up but Flynn stomps his heavy boot down in the middle of cigar man's chest. I hear ribs crack on the impact.
The sound of a vehicle tearing into the parking lot makes me wrestle for fresh breath. We're caught. It's over now. I missed my chance.
“Come here.” Flynn's voice is as soft and non-threatening as ever. He gently maneuvers me in front of him and wraps his arms around me from behind, molding his hand over mine to cover my trigger finger.
The car pulls up right beside us. I can't look at it. I can't look away from cigar man's face. That horrible sneering loathed face.
“Together?” Flynn asks. He doesn't seem to care about the car that just arrived.
I nod.
He adjusts the aim back to the middle of cigar man's forehead and pulls the trigger. The gun kicks, but it's quiet.
I let out a sob. I would fall to my knees, but Flynn is holding me up. Someone takes the gun from our hands.
It's Adrian. “I got this. Get her out of here–now.”
Flynn scoops me up into his arms and carries me to the van. The beautiful, old trusty white Ford van. No vehicle has ever looked so friendly to me in my life.
He sets me down long enough to open the passenger door then helps me in, buckles me in and slams it shut.
He moves with speed and precision but also total ease. His face is relaxed and impassive.
This is the guy you want with you in an emergency. In a crisis. In a fight. But also for fun. In life.
This is a guy I was stupid to push away.
“Flynn,” I choke when he climbs behind the wheel.
“I love you, Nadia.”
That’s what he says when he gets in the van. I love you, Nadia.
“You’re not a project for me. Or someone I think I have to save. You have it backward. You’re the one who rescued me.”
He pulls away from the scene of our crime talking about love.
About loving me.
About me rescuing him.
“I love you, Flynn.” I’m still weepy. Kind of a mess. I swipe the back of my hand over my eyes. “I love you so much, and this last week has been so hard.”
He looks over at me–now the meaning burns in his gaze. “So fucking hard.” He scrubs a hand across his trimmed beard. “Cadence isn’t pregnant. That was a stupid ploy for my attention. I’m really sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” I’m still crying. “You didn’t do anything. She’s the nutjob.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. What you mean to me. I just…I was afraid to fuck things up. Everything was so good with you, and I didn’t want to scare you off by getting too intense.”
“Too intense.” I give a watery laugh. “I’m always too intense. That’s why I didn’t say anything to you.”
He looks over at me again. “I want intense. I want that with you. You make me want to try hard in life instead of just hanging back on the sidelines. You make me want to live.”
He parks in front of his apartment and throws open the door to come around to my side.
I fall into his arms when he opens my door. “You make me want to live, too,” I tell him. My sobs have subsided. All I feel now are bubbles of hope. Glimmers of joy.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me to the door. “I love you,” I say. “YA tebya lyublyu.”
“What does that mean?” he asks.
I smile. “It means I love you.”
He throws his head back. “Aw, fuck.”
“What?”
“You were telling me that all along. I should’ve said it first.”
I laugh because it’s a silly thing to lament.
He unlocks the front door, and we take the steps up to his apartment. “Are we back together?” he asks.
“Da. Definitely. I mean, I want to be.”
He stops at his door and catches my face in his hands. “I want to be, too.” He kisses me like I’m his bride, and it’s our wedding day–a kiss full of promise, loaded with love.
The kind I never, ever want to recover from.
Then he pushes open the door, pulling out his phone as we walk in. “I’m texting your brother to tell him where we are and not to bother us,” he says.
“Good plan,” I say.
I see the smile slip a bit from his face, probably as he remembers what we just did.
“I’m sorry you had to help me.”
“I’m not,” he says fiercely. “I’m not sorry at all.”
“Adrian is a cleaner. That’s what he does for the bratva. He’ll take care of everything.”
Flynn draws a breath and lets it out. “That’s good. I’d go to prison for you, but I’d rather not.”
“Yeah, I’d rather not, too.”
He tips his head toward the bedroom. “Can I show you how I’d prefer to impress you?”