Page 52 of The Road Less Traveled By

“Have you had any luck tracing the payment to his account?” Our shooter—Daniel Marsh—was a hired gun, like I expected, but I’m not sure who hired him in the first place. Ralph was never one to have other people do his dirty work for him, but I’m working under the theory that he made a few new friends in prison. He has become really good at the waiting game. So, while he is technically escalating from notes to shooting at Bree, I can’t be sure that this is him.

The fact that it could be someone completely different scares me more than it should.

“I’ve got my best guys working on it, and when they find something, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Good,” I say before I bring up something I haven't wanted to say out loud. “You know what has bugged me the most about all this? Daniel was a trained sniper. The fucker had a bunch of medals and shit before he was dishonorably discharged.”

“You’re nervous because he missed,” Nico states, a look of concern flashing across his face.

“Yeah. If his target really was Bree, then how did he miss every shot he took? It almost feels like he was trying not to hit her.”

Nico just grumbles something before he leaves to go upstairs, probably wanting to get back to figuring out where the money came from. I hear him talking to someone before he gets fully up the stairs, and when Bree comes into view, I feel a twinge in my chest.

She hasn't slept in days. I know that because she’s been down here every day before I am, sprinting as fast as she can until her body practically collapses. She barely spares me a glance as she heads for the treadmill, but I can’t take my eyes off her.

I think she’s wearing my shirt. It looks like one of the band shirts my sister bought me that I lost when I moved. I assumed I accidentally left it somewhere, but now I think that she either stole it from me or it fell out of one of my bags.

“Where’d you get that shirt, angel?”

She breaks out of her haze before looking down at her attire. “It was in my laundry basket. Why?”

“It’s mine.”

Her eyes bulge, and I can practically see the thoughts racing through her head. “I’ll wash it and give it back to you, I promise.”

“It’s okay, Bree. Keep it.”Why did I just say that?

She shakes her head as soon as the words are out of my mouth. “No, Vince. I can’t keep it. That’s—”

“You wear it much better than I do.” I ignore the way her cheeks flush before I walk over to her, grab her water bottle, and head to fill it up. Bree always forgets, and by the time she’s done sprinting out the tension in her body, she won’t feel like filling it.

By the time I bring it back to her, she hasn't moved from her spot.

I take the time to study her like this—headphones around her neck, blonde hair up in a ponytail, my shirt covering her entire body to her knees, her tattered sneakers on her feet.

She looks like a forbidden fruit standing here in front of me, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching out to her.

“Thanks,” she says in a low whisper. I notice her pulse has started to beat faster, and I can't tell if she’s nervous at our close proximity or scared. I take a step back before I speak again.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

She swallows hard before her gaze breaks mine and she looks anywhere else besides my eyes. “I’m still good to go to Liv’s tonight, right?”

“Yes. Emerson is driving, and I’ll be with you inside.”

Her shouldersfall just a little bit. I’ve noticed that, out of all my men, she feels safest with Emerson—besides me, of course. “Her event in a few weeks is still under review. It’s too out in the open, but I think I can figure something out.”

“It’s important to Liv, so I’d really love to go. If it’s not possible, I’m sure she would understand, but I can’t keep living like this.”

“I know. I’ll figure it out, Bree. He doesn't get to keep controlling your life like this.”

“But he is, and he does.”

I step toward her again, needing her to understand that this won’t be forever. “For now.”

Bree surprises me by taking the loose strand of hair that hangs from my head and smoothing it back into place. “I trust you, Vince. It’s him that I don't.”

She’s never voluntarily touched me before, and I don't dare move because I don't want to scare her off.Her touch feels good. I’m chalking all the weird feelings up to not having touched a woman in a few years. I can’t even remember the last time I was intimate with someone. I tend to stay away from clients, and when I need any sort of release, random hookups have been fine.

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