Page 55 of Three of a Kind

I do too.

It’s driving my instincts insane.

Having already texted Gunner to get his ass over here, I pace the area by the barstools and kitchen island bare. I need someone to brainstorm this with me.

Brooklyn is pregnant with Barrett’s second child, and I’m having trouble wrapping my head around it.

Fate has a jacked-up sense of humor, that’s for damn sure.

After I texted Gunner, I touched base with Bless to explain that someone purposely tried to run over Brooklyn. If there’s more going on here, then it’s time Bless comes clean, because all I can think about is how close today came to ending in disaster.

Gunner explained the grocery store situation with Libby, in detail, the night it happened and specifically mentioned that it was a black car.

The vehicle today was a blacked-out SUV.

I didn’t have time to get a visual on how many individuals were inside, the plates, or anything important.

Luckily, we’re in the middle of New York City, and this place has cameras every fucking where. I don’t know who runs tech for Bless and her team or if they even have someone who does, but I trust Merrick.

He’s been the tech specialist for Assurance Security for years, and he’s a longtime friend.

Gunner assured me he would pass along the information, and Merrick will do everything he can to track the vehicle and get us more information.

Fuck.

My head shakes.

If I’d been three seconds later, she would have been hit. At the very least, the stroller would have, and with how she was holding on to it…

My fists clench at my sides.

The SUV was parked.

It pulled out and sped up purposely toward her.

No part of what I witnessed seemed like an accident.

That. Shit. Was. Intentional.

Brooklyn comes out of the bathroom, and I’m in motion before I can stop myself.

It’s not just the near miss.

Avan popping up was a crazy coincidence.

At the very least, it’s suspicious.

The tip of Brooklyn’s nose is red, and maybe that’s what pushes me forward.

I don’t stop until I’m standing right in front of her. She’s not short for a woman. I’d say she’s probably five-seven or somewhere around there, but she’s tiny compared to my six-foot-four frame.

“Can I hug you? I really need a fucking hug.”

Her lower lip wobbles, but she gives a shaky nod that’s all the permission I need.

She lost the sweater as soon as we made it inside the apartment. The soft skin of her forearms brushes mine as I pull her to my chest. Her hands dig into my chest, and the next thing I know, I’m lifting her and walking us over to the couch.

She buries her nose in my throat, breathing me in as I kick off my tennis shoes.

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