Blyssfully Undone (The Blyss Trilogy 3)

He rests his forehead against mine and softly sighs. “The only thing I can tell you is shit’s getting very intense. I need you to listen to all my orders, and follow them to the T. I can’t afford you doing something off the cuff right now. I’m serious, Jules, because doing so will inevitably put yourself and my men at risk, and it will all be on you if you decide to buck my authority,” he firmly states.

“All right,” I whisper, agreeing to listen.

“By the time you get out of the shower, I’ll have some breakfast in here waiting for you.”

“Okay,” I softly reply.

Whatever is going on with his men, it has him wound up in a bad way, because he schools his facial features again, turning them back into his infamous stone wall. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and then gives me a tender kiss on my forehead before he gets up to leave.

This must be what it feels like when love and hate collide, and then intertwine, creating mass confusion and mixed-up feelings. I feel so discombobulated over my unsorted feelings. He’s a criminal for God’s sake, Jules! One who stole you, and has not only kept you captive, but continues to do so.

This situation of me having feelings for him is really screwed up, and I wonder where this leaves Adam and me. Hell, is there even an Adam to return to? And if there is, could it even work at this point? There is no way either one of us would be able to ward off this type of danger chasing us. Both of us are simply too inexperienced in the department of guns and street battles, let alone being able to hide ourselves effectively. Is it even fair to pull him into this perilous world? We’d forever be on the run, looking over our shoulders. Where would that leave his job and our future?

I’m precariously teetering on the edge of a cliff, and I don’t know how hard I will fall when I hit rock bottom. I feel a sinking depression coming on, and my hope is waning. I chastise myself for wanting to give up hope. Maybe I’m just simply tired and worn down. Perhaps Travis is right; I’ll feel better after a much-needed shower, and then once I eat something, I’ll gain a little strength and a fresh outlook. I force myself to get out of bed and head for the shower.

Travis

When I left Jules alone to take her shower, I made her a nice spread of breakfast food and placed it on a tray. I left it on the little table in our room for when she got out of the bathroom, because I knew once the men and I started discussing strategies again, I’d forget to feed her. None of us slept well last night, and we’re all tired. The mental strain of figuring out what our next move needs to be just adds to our exhaustive state. Even though we’re used to working under pressure like this, especially on very little sleep, I find myself more on-edge than usual. Maybe because I’m worried about Jules.

After talking and working out the final logistics for another half hour, the guys then split apart, each man having their own task to carry out. They’ve left Jules and me to ourselves for a little bit so I can make sure her volatile mood is truly diffused. Plus, I need to brief her on what’s about to go down, and what’s expected of her. I don’t think they wanted to be around for when I have to break the news to her anyway.

Of course, after I lost my temper earlier, I imagine she’ll think twice before copping another attitude with me or the men. I don’t have time to play games or sugarcoat shit. These are real bullets with real-life repercussions, and I need her to stand in line and be subordinate, or it could cost someone their life. I’m sure as shit not willing to risk any of my men over a temper tantrum.

Chase is the last man out the door with his gear, and when the door slams shut behind him, I head to the bedroom to check on Jules. It’s quiet, and I find myself tiptoeing down the hallway to see what she’s up to. When I peek around the doorframe, she’s sitting in a chair by the small table still wrapped up in a bathrobe, and wearing a towel wrapped around her head like a turban. I’m pleasantly surprised to see her breakfast plate has been cleaned off. I internally smile; I’m glad she’s not mentally checked out on me. Her eating means she still gives a damn and she’s still in the game.

She’s gazing rather serenely out the window as she takes in the city scene below. We’re on the highest floor in this Raleigh hotel. It’s damn near a skyscraper, so it’s safe for her to have the curtains drawn back. It’s impossible for anyone to spot us from down below. I shake my head in awe of her. She has constantly impressed me with how she’s been able to handle one fucked-up situation after another, and how easy she rolls with the dice every time…or at least it seems that way.