His eyes glistened, like he was either about to lose his ever-loving mind or maybe cry too.
I said.
Griffin said, before extending his leg to nudge my foot with his.
I managed a somber smile and went over to sit beside him, telling Hunt,
Layla pressed.
Hunt said miserably.
Hunt corrected, just as miserably.
She frowned.
Brady said.
Brady suggested.
Layla didn’t bother denying it. Grimly, she just nodded.
Hunt gazed at us with wide, imploring eyes.
I plopped my head back onto the couch cushions, suddenly exhausted by it all.
But Brady was already nodding to himself.
For several long moments, we all seemed to consider the implications of finally following through on murder plans of our own.
Eventually, Layla said,
It truly was nothing we hadn’t discussed already.
Layla persisted,
She rolled her neck, then asked,
Griffin said, taking my hand.
I studied our entwined fingers, wishing our lives could be easy again—I could simply be enjoying finding out that the boy I’d been in love with since forever loved me back, I was hisdream girl. I should’ve been lapping up that juicy stuff, gorging on it. It was literally what dreams were made of.
But no.
There never had been any avoiding it. We’d never stand for what Magnum and our lie-rents had done. Or worse: what they intended to continue doing.
The irony was tremendous: In killing us, Magnum had created killers. The man we intended to murder had forged his very own murderers.
I drew in a steeling breath, squeezed Griffin’s hand.
Griffin said.
