Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
I laugh, watery and soft, and for the first time since that knife flashed in the boutique, the terror eases enough for something warmer to take its place.
I feel safe.
FIVE
BANKS
I finish locking the heavy front door, sliding the thick deadbolt into place with a solid, reassuring click that echoes through the quiet cabin. Being close to Anniston, holding her in my arms, had me running back outside to check everything. I test the handle twice just to be sure, then move methodically through the entire space like I’ve done on a hundred operations before. Every window gets checked. I run my fingers along the frames, confirming the locks are engaged, then draw the thick blackout curtains tight so not even a sliver of lamplight can leak out and give away our position. The back door receives the same careful treatment: I throw the heavy bolt, add the security chain, and double-check the reinforced frame. I had mounted a wireless motion sensor earlier in the afternoon during a quick supply run, and I test it now, satisfied when the small unit blinks green. Perimeter alarms are fully live. Before coming back inside I’d slipped out and placed two trip flares at strategic points along the tree line, hidden but ready to light up the night if anything bigger than a deer came sniffing around. Only after all of that do I allow myself to breathe a little easier, the familiar ritual of securing a location helping to ground me.
Anniston’s still standing near the old leather couch where I left her, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if she’s trying to hold all her pieces together. She looks small in the warm golden glow of the single lamp I turned on, yet somehow even more striking than she did in the chaos of the city. Her messy blonde hair falls around her face in soft, tousled waves, a few strands sticking to her cheek from the long drive. Those wide green eyes are still bright with leftover adrenaline, reflecting the light like polished emeralds, while her cheeks carry a soft flush that hasn’t faded since the attack. Her pencil skirt’s wrinkled and her blouse bears faint vanilla oat-milk stains across the front, but none of that detracts from how adorable and fiercely alive she looks. She’s the kind of woman who could ruin a man’s focus without even trying. Beautiful in a real, unpolished way that hits me harder than it should.
I clear my throat, forcing my voice to stay even. “You hungry?”
She blinks like the ordinary question catches her completely off guard after everything that’s happened today, then nods slowly. “Starving, actually. I didn’t exactly have time for lunch before the whole attempted-murder thing derailed my schedule.”
I head into the compact kitchen area and start pulling supplies from the well-stocked pantry shelves. A bag of rice, jars of mixed vegetables, a couple of seasoning packets, and some olive oil. Nothing fancy, but it is hot, filling, and quick. I spot a chicken breast in the fridge. And I fill a pot with water and set it on the small gas stove to boil, then grab a knife and begin chopping the vegetables with practiced efficiency. The rhythmic motion of the blade against the cutting board helps settle the last of the post-fight energy still buzzing under my skin like static electricity. The familiar smells of warming oil and spices slowly fill the cabin, pushing back against the lingering tension in the air.
Anniston drifts over after a minute and leans against the wooden counter, watching me work. “You cook too? On top of the whole brooding, highly competent bodyguard thing? That’s unfairly attractive, Banks Hawthorne. I’m starting to think you’re secretly perfect and that feels like a trap.”
She’s making it hard to remain professional. I glance up and give her a small, controlled smile. “Keeps the hands busy when the mind needs to slow down.” I stir the rice into the boiling water, then add the chicken and vegetables to a pan, letting them sizzle. The savory aroma grows stronger, comforting and domestic in a way this mission definitely isn’t. “It won’t be five-star restaurant quality, but it’ll be hot and it’ll taste like something other than fear.”
We sit down to eat at the small wooden table a few minutes later. Steam rises from our plates of chicken rice stir-fry. Anniston takes her first bite and makes a soft little sound of approval in the back of her throat that travels straight through me. I watch her across the table, the way the lamplight catches in her hair and turns it to strands of gold, the way she tucks a loose strand behind her ear when she catches me looking. I’m heavily attracted to her. Dangerously so. The kind of pull that could cloud my judgment if I let it take root. And I can’t let it. Not with Nash and Sin still missing. Not with Dad’s trail growing colder every day.