Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Well, you’ll be dead, so you won’t have to deal with it.”
Trav shakes his head. “Nah, even in death, I’m too stubborn to let anyone else clean up my messes.”
“Stubborn, controlling … same thing, right?”
“Since when am I controlling?”
I huff. “Forgetting for a moment you forced me into the trunk of your car for no real reason—”
“Your safety is always my number one priority, boo.”
I ignore the stupid pet name. “You’ve been controlling every time I’ve ever met you. Starting with the moment you pushed me against a wall and fucked me.”
Trav looks up at the roof and hums. “Mm, good memories.”
“I’ve had fonder ones.” That’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. God, I still think of that night, of him moving inside me, slamming into me over and over again. I’ve never been dicked out like that in my life. “What about the second time we met where you manipulated me into interrogating you for so long, I lost my case while the ATF scored my stash?”
“Okay, that was different. I needed my payday. You were … collateral damage. Even if being interrogated by you was kinda fun.”
“Or how about anytime you’ve come to me since trading a favor for a favor?” I ask.
“I already told you, you didn’t need to repay those.”
“And like I told you every single time, I don’t like debts being hung over my head, but you’d do it anyway so you could control me.”
For the briefest, most split second, I swear Trav’s eyes gloss over with guilt, but that can’t be right.
The look disappears as fast as it comes, but he’s still serious when he says, “I’m going to level with you. I don’t like owing people either. That’s why I always give you something before asking for a favor.”
That … would make sense.
“So, how long do you think we’ll be holed up here for?” I ask, wanting to change the topic before I overanalyze every single run-in I’ve had with Travis West in the last few years.
“At least a few days. Hopefully only a couple of weeks. We’ll gather as much evidence as we can to take your boss down.”
“And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?”
Trav winks. “I have a few ideas.”
“Anything that doesn’t involve you trying to antagonize me or get me into bed?”
“Oh. Then no, I have no ideas.”
This is going to be a long few days. Staying with him a few weeks is out of the question. We won’t survive it. I might have to welcome death so I can get away from the man who loves to relentlessly get under my skin.
Ironically, running away with Trav to save my life might just kill me.
Chapter Six
Trav
I’m trying to stop. I really am. But Dylan brings out this side of me that makes me want to club him over the back of the head and claim him. It makes me … an ass.
If I want Dylan to take me seriously, I need to show him that I can actually be serious. He’s only ever seen that confident side of me, that armor I wear in my line of work to make sure I’m not only protecting myself but my team.
Mike Bravo is my found family. Sure, I have actual living relatives who I love and catch up with when I can, but they’re all regular civilians. Mike Bravo is a brotherhood, and I will always put them first. Which means taking a while to trust someone. And while I trust Dylan, I know he doesn’t return it, and trust is a two-way street.
So this is me, trying to make amends for years of hostile energy. Me taunting him, him getting frustrated with me, I’ll try to make it stop.
“I’ll show you to your room. Which is actually my room, but I won’t be in it.”
He finally unleashes a smile. “Thank you for the clarification.” He pauses as we cross the threshold. “This … is not what I was expecting.”
“It’s drab compared to out there, but it does in a pinch.” The truth is, the headache in the rest of the house has nothing to do with me. There’s a story, but even the guys on my team don’t know it.
They think I fucked an interior designer, pissed him off, and that was his revenge, which is not how it happened at all, but I let them think that.
My room, which I did myself, is basic with no frills. Black bed frame, khaki blanket, sheets neat with military corners, and everything is in its place and uncluttered. I have a mini command center by the door, a stockroom full of supplies, weapons, and rations to last a month, and everything I could ever possibly need in here.
Just in case.
“Am I going to have to take my computer out of here? Confiscate your phone I gave you?”