“No, because that’s how people get fucking hurt,” Max snaps.“They let their guard down and more bad shit happens.”
“What he’s failed to point out is that finding Black could be impossible now,” Maverick declares, his tone dejected.
“But we already knew that.It’s hard to deny what he did to my wife when I have it on fucking camera,” Jaxon growls.
“He has a point,” Eli remarks.“This is something we’ve already thought about.”
“My brain didn’t go there,” Max admits.“The bad news I’m worried about is that this could force Andrew to come at you harder than he ever has.Everyone could be in danger.”
Jaxon shakes his head, his voice hoarse.“He wants Lily and our daughter.He told her he won’t stop until he has them.”
“We are not going to let that happen,” Maverick promises.
“He’s already done it once,” Jaxon rasps.“Fuck, what if he gets her next time?”
A shiver runs down my spine, and I lean more into Reid when Maverick replies.“We are not going to let that happen.”
A part of me hopes Black turns himself in, but then the other part, the part that has witnessed what he is capable of, wants him to face the promise in Maverick’s words.Something tells me whatever the Hayes and Carters have in mind when it comes to Black, it won’t have anything to do with handing him over to the police.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Summer
Ilower my sunglassesto cover my eyes from the blinding sun beaming through the windows of the quaint coffee shop.I’ve always thought the sun burnt brighter as it set.It had always felt like the universe’s way of giving us one last burst of joy before the crimson sky turned dark.I’ve watched more sunsets than I have sunrises.I’ve always found peace in the pallet of colours as the sun lowered, preparing us for a reset.Right now, I hate the glowing sphere of hot gas.I hate the black spots that appear behind my eyes.I want someone to shut the goddamn sun off.
The noise in the café we have stopped outside of not far from our town in Coldenshire isn’t helping the thumping headache I’ve been sporting since I woke up this morning.Kids cry, laugh and squeal, some even selfishly running around the place like I didn’t wake up this morning with the worst hangover in the world.Cutlery smashes against plates and bowls.Music plays through the speakers, making the walls vibrate slightly, even if the sound isn’t as loud as the chatter going on around me.
I will never, ever play a drinking game with anyone ever again, but especially not two Carters, my cousins and best friend.
I hand over the money for the two bottles of water I pick up, ignoring the way my stomach turns when I get another whiff of something smelling of honey and a hint of cinnamon.
“Keep the change,” I tell the teenager, needing to get out of here.I’ve been in here ten minutes too long.And we still have the fifteen to twenty-minute drive home.
I rush outside, glaring at Paisley, who leans against my car licking the ice cream she ordered from the shop next door.“I hate you.”
She laughs, pulling the ice cream away from her mouth.“No, you don’t.And you can’t blame me for the hangover.I went to bed at, like, eleven.”
