Read Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) for Free Online

won’t have room for all this stuff. This is a six-bedroom
house. Besides, the carriage house is already furnished.”
    “I
guess we’ll need to meet to discuss what you want.”
    “The
price will change if you want a lot of the furniture. My parents didn’t buy
cheap stuff.”
    “I
can see that,” he says, dryly.
    “Dinner?
Friday? I’ll cook and you can look around and decide what furnishings you’d
like to purchase.”
    “Sounds
like we may have ourselves a deal.” He squints. “How did you know I was
single?”
    “What?”
    “How
did you know I wasn’t married? Your proposition?”
    “No
ring.”
    “Hmm.
A lot of married men don’t wear rings,” he says.
    “Yeah,
the ones that try to hide it.”
    He
pinches his lower lip as his emerald irises bore into my faded gray ones. Then
he says, “Friday. Seven.”
    I
walk him to the door. He gets in a sleek, black sports car. The engine rumbles
so deep, it vibrates my bones. I’m not sure what kind of car it is, but I know
it’s expensive because I’ve never seen one like it before.
    What
the hell have I just done? I hope I know what I’m doing because he looks way
out of my league and dangerous as hell. The first thing I do is call Harper. I
need some encouragement here. But I don’t dare tell her about the arrangement.

 
    Chapter
Four
    Kestrel

 
    That
was interesting. Or not. I want the house. It’s perfection. The
girl—not so much. She’s about as fucked up as I am. No, I take
that back. She may be worse. That room is a fucking shrine to her dead
daughter. Dead flowers were everywhere. Cards and balloons,
too. It was borderline psycho. I wonder what Gabby would think. Hell, I
know what she’d think. That the good doctor needs to be
locked away in an asylum. I’d be doing her a favor by refusing to keep
that room.
    And
the way she threw herself at me. Christ! She was like kissing a fucking nun!
And I thought I had issues.
    When
I get home I pour myself a drink and my phone rings.
    “How
was it?”
    It’s
Kolson.
    “Perfect.
I made an offer. I have to meet with the owner on Friday night to talk about
the possible purchase of the furnishings. You wouldn’t believe the place.”
    “What
was the asking price?”
    “Four
point five. And she wants to rent the carriage house.”
    “Seriously?
Rental income on top of that?”
    “Yeah.”
I don’t tell him the rest of the disturbing story.
    “So,
tell me about it.”
    I
fill him in on the details of the house.
    “Damn,
bro, you killed it on that one. And the location. It’s
exactly where you wanted.”
    “Right?
You should see the place. It’s been completely renovated too. The kitchen is
unreal.”
    He
laughs. “Like you give a shit about that.”
    “What’s
that supposed to mean?”
    “How
often do you cook?”
    “Hey,
you never know. I may take it up as a hobby.”
    He
makes some kind of grunting noise. He knows that’s complete bullshit. I hate to
cook. I can grill a steak and do a little bit here and there, but nothing
extravagant.
    “Well,
I can hire someone to cook for me. And they’ll love the kitchen.”
    “Now
that I can believe,” he says, laughing as we end the call.

 
    ***

 
    The
pressure on my throat tightens. His hands are so large—too large for me
to fight against. My fingers tighten around his wrists and try to pull them
away from me, but they gain no purchase. Then he stops squeezing and bends his
head to my ear.
    “You
will do as I say, or this continues. Understand?”
    I
nod, or try anyway. Then he lets me go and I slide down the wall, legs
crumpling.
    My
body jerks as I wake up from my recurring dream. Dream, hell. It was my reality
for years with that bastard. The Dragon. Heart clanging, I reach for my
ear buds and turn on the music. It calms me in times like these.
    When
I think of his death, a sense of happiness showers me. How sick is that? Most
people would cry if their father had been shot. Not me. I rejoice on a daily
basis. The strange