Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
She’s fast to reply.
Isn’t Farrow like 6’5’’? Ben’s eco car is too small for all 3 of u – Winona
I type quickly as a six-foot-three Farrow approaches, and I send: not if you sit in the middle seat in the back.
K. Hurry. – Winona
I plan on it.
5
MAXIMOFF HALE
Heavy rain beats the sleek, blue electric car in a deserted alleyway. Car windows are fogged.
An overhang on the side-exit keeps us dry, and Farrow catches my arm before we run into the midnight storm with Charlie.
My cousin already disappears into the front passenger side.
“Half of Omega is waiting in security’s Range Rover in case Ben drives off,” Farrow explains as he quickly fits in his earpiece and hooks a radio to his belt.
“They really let you back on duty?” I ask, and we step into the rain together, our boots meeting the slick road.
Farrow jogs around to the other door. “I’m the best at what I do, wolf scout. Everyone needs me. Case in point.” He puts a hand on the car’s wet roof.
I clutch the door handle. He’s right, but there’s a difference between security and me. “I don’t just need you though.”
I want you.
I want you.
God, I want you.
I express the carnal words in my eyes, and his chest elevates, seeing every loving want written on me.
“Damn,” he mutters, rain dripping down his temples and off his jaw.
Damn.
I inhale strongly. Yeah, that’s about right.
It’s a good start to a doomsday. Because I’m not always that smooth, and something needs to go right before everything goes fucking wrong.
We both slip into the rear doors at nearly the same time. Shutting out the rain. I brush water out of my soaked hair.
Winona rotates to me in the middle seat, her face delicate and feminine compared to her older sister’s strong squared jaw. Her hair, lightened to dishwater-blonde from the sun, falls on a man’s button-down that’s knotted at the waistband of her cargo pants.
Her hazel-flecked eyes bore into me with so much emotion that it tries to knock me backwards.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“No, I’m not okay,” she says powerfully, her eyes glassing and chin threatening to tremble.
“We’re going to help, alright?” I hug Nona, and she grips my shoulders.
I rub her back, and I flip a figurative switch. Trying not to feel the hurt that she feels. My eyes rise to Farrow.
He studies my stone face, and he mouths, I’m here for you.
I nod. I know, but I’m not sure how to be everything they need without shutting off emotion. What Farrow called a survival instinct.
When my family breaks down, I fortify.
“Nona, don’t cry,” Ben says in a whisper, turning around from the driver’s seat. “Because then I’ll start crying again and we’re not going to move past the waterworks stage of this crisis.”
You know Ben Pirrip Cobalt as the sixteen-year-old savvy environmentalist who makes friends easier than all of my family combined. He’ll even be your friend. He’s probably already followed you back on Twitter or Instagram, and he’s liked your pictures ten or twenty times. You think he’s one of the coolest Cobalt boys—with his accessibility, his windswept brown hair, baby blue eyes, and pretty boy charm—and you wouldn’t be wrong.
I know him as Ben, sometimes Pippy, the youngest and most free-spirited Cobalt boy and my little cousin. A guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, who hurts over sad, broken things, and I know he wishes more people paid attention to important causes than the beauty mark on his cheek.
Fair Warning: I will hold you beneath a frozen lake and drown you if you fuck with him.
“You smell foul,” Charlie says to his brother. Ben does stink like locker room B.O., but Winona has to be used to the stench. If it bothers Farrow, he doesn’t let on.
Ben scratches his hair. String-braided bracelets (made by Winona) fall down his wrist. “I’m doing a water-only wash period. I’m on week four.”
“It’s not working,” Charlie tells him and scoots his seat back on me—
“Charlie,” I growl, the seat crushing my knees. Nona sits back up and rubs her cheek with the heel of her palm. She opens a box of salted crackers.
Charlie is ignoring me. In case you were all wondering.
“Are you cool?” Ben is asking Farrow, and at the same time, Winona crosses her legs on the seat. Giving me room to shift mine in her space.
“Thanks,” I tell my cousin.
She offers me a cracker, and I pass since they taste like salted tree bark. And she offers Farrow one, which he accepts.
“I won’t nark if that’s what you’re asking,” Farrow says and pops the cracker in his mouth. He chews slowly, his face scrunching, and I almost start laughing.
“Cool,” Ben nods.
Farrow coughs in his fist, then unpockets a pack of gum. “Your cousin already likes me better than he likes you, wolf scout.”