Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) by Evie Mitchell (books to read for beginners TXT) 📕

“Maybe I should–”

“No.” He released me, shaking my shoulders. “You’re doing this. Now. Run, sis.” Whispered fiercely as his fingers dug into my shoulders, his eyes bright with unshed tears. Gently, Abel helped me onto the bike. I gasped, pain spiralling out as I settled on the seat. I immediately pushed to stand. Abel’s face darkened.

“Go.”

He pushed, holding me steady until I got a rhythm, his hands slipping back allowing me to pedal away.

I glanced back. There he stood, Abel, a boy-man trapped in between duty and desire. He raised a hand, then turned, pushing back into the thick bush.

I turned, watching the road ahead.

My virginity had been brutally taken from me. A sham wedding where my sister-wives stood, eyes downcast, baring silent witness as the meanest man in the commune promised to cherish me. He hadn’t waited for the reception before breaking that promise. Taking me, kicking and screaming, back to his house. A house I would share with him, his two wives and their children. My father had watched, laughing and calling encouragement. My siblings shook their heads in disappointment as I fought my husband. My protest meant nothing when God and the commune had supposedly blessed the marriage. Only Abel had tried to intervene. For that, he’d received a black eye and been banished for the night.

Virginity had been sacrificed to achieve my ultimate goal −freedom.

Into the dark night I rode, pushing my aching body to pedal faster, the small light on the handle bars flickered in the darkness, illuminating rock and plant, lighting the dirt road.

As dawn broke over the horizon, mother nature painted her promise of a new day in pink and orange glory.

The outskirts of town came into view. A man leaned against a car parked at the sign post welcoming people into town. Just as I’d planned. Just as he’d agreed. Four in the morning and he’d delivered.

Relief, pure relief.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Luc

The Present

I’d fought tooth and nail to get Emmie to my place. I’d pointed out that running would make more sense tomorrow, once she had time to prepare. I’d pointed out it was safer to travel when there were multiple people on the road, more witnesses in case she had a tail. I’d used every weak, stupid, outrageous excuse to get her in my car. In the end, Emmie had only given in because I’d refused to leave her.

Her face pale, her body trembling, she burrowed into the corner of the couch, jumping at every little noise. It’d been a long while since I’d seen such bone-deep terror. There was no way in hell I’d let her leave. There was no fucking way she was leaving period.

Over my fucking dead body.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Emmie

The adrenaline faded leaving behind a fine tremor and sweaty palms.

I’d forgotten the fear.

I’d stayed in Canberra for six years. Six years is a long time when you’re on the run. More than long enough for me to become complacent. To forget.

I sat in Lucien’s house, on his dark grey couch, watching him watch me drink tea. He leaned against the far wall, a mug in his hand.

“So.” He drew out the short word.

I took a sip not answering.

He sighed. “Don’t make me spell it out.”

I ignored him and looked into my tea cup, wondering if it held the answers to the mysteries of life. I attempted to ignore the fine tremble of my hands.

“Keys, come on. Tell me about the letters.”

“No.” I immediately retreated, pulling my foot away. I turned to curve into the arm of the couch.

“Emmie–”

“No.” I held out a hand, blocking him.

“Beautiful, you gotta tell me.”

“No.”

Luc watched me for a minute, his stormy blue eyes taking in my legs curled up to my chest, the blanket tucked tight around me, arms wrapped around my legs holding the cup. He pulled the cup from my hands, setting it on the coffee table before reaching over to gently haul me into his arms and across his lap. I opened my mouth, then immediately shut it, halting the protest. It felt so freaking good to be held.

“Okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

I relaxed against him.

“But here’s what I see.”

I tensed.

“You’ve got next to no background. You’re friendly, a good listener and generous.” I stayed silent, eyes fixed determinedly on the far wall.

“You’re quiet, you don’t let people in. You keep your head down, cruising under the radar. Even after the last few months, I know next to nothing about Emmie Franklin. Tonight, I come to you with information, you freak. I haven’t seen you react like that to anything. Not even when you got shot. Twice.”

I cringed but didn’t comment.

“You react bad, so bad it makes you physically ill. You say it’s your husband, then give me nothing, simply get up, brush your teeth and start throwing shit in a bag while I’m trying to get information out of you.”

I cringed again, this time because I know he saw too much. I’d panicked. I’d let him in without thinking. Even that small detail revealed more than anyone had gotten before.

“The lack of information I can accept. What I can’t accept is as you’re racing around throwing shit in a bag, you walk across to your dick of a neighbour, hand him a bundle of cash, and he comes back with a safe in which you’ve stashed even more cash, fake IDs, and shit which tells me you’ve done this before. Now, that. That is the one thing I can’t leave alone.” His hand slipped under my chin, tilting my head, forcing me to look him in the eye.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I need to start digging?”

I took him in. He had that serious glint in his eye, the one I saw when we were on a case and he’d gotten really pissed off. He was readying to go all in.

Damn.

I pulled away, shifting on his lap as I sighed heavily.

“You’re a terrible