Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“What else aren’t you telling me, Lo? What did you leave out? Because something isn’t adding up here.”
I shake my head, turning for the door, but Dare’s palm slaps against it.
“Who’s Cayden?”
I whip around, unable to believe the nerve of him. “And how exactly is any of this your business?”
“Cut the shit and just fill me in.” His voice rises with each word. He’s clearly frustrated.
“What do you want me to say, Dare?” I screech back, throwing my arms in the air. “That I fucked the father of the child I nannied? That I’m a whore? That I was too fucking stupid to see how I was being lied to and manipulated the entire time I worked for him?” The tears fall freely now, and I do nothing to stop them. I hate crying in front of people. Dare stands there, jaw clenched and speechless, as I walk over and collapse onto the couch, dropping my head into my hands.
Dare sits next to me, putting a palm on my back, but I flinch away from his touch. I don’t want his pity.
“Don’t.”
Dare pulls his palm back and I keep my head down, trying to get my emotions under control. A minute passes before I feel him stand, then he’s walking out of the room. I flinch when the door slams behind him before bouncing off the hinges.
I smooth my hair behind my ears, then wipe my face with the palms of my hands as I walk toward the door to shut it gently. I give myself five minutes. Five minutes to calm down. Five minutes to get the fuck over it. Five minutes to put on a happy face and go out there like nothing happened. Just five minutes. It’s all I need.
* * *
I CLOSE THE BATHROOM DOOR behind me before kicking it once, twice, three times for good measure. I need to reel it in. I have a client coming any minute, and I’m fucking losing it. It’s not only about Lo. It’s about the fact that I’ve spent ten fucking years working on my self-control, and I’ve blown it twice in twenty-four hours. First, when I fucked Lo without a rubber, and then again when I lost my shit in some bullshit attempt to protect her.
My self-preservation instincts war with my desire to keep her safe, and I don’t know what to do with it. She’s been here for a couple of weeks, and she’s bringing shit out of me that I thought had died long ago. Conflicted doesn’t even fucking begin to cover it.
I turn the metal knob on the sink and splash some water onto my face. Taking a deep breath, I open the door. I walk straight to my station and focus my attention on putting my tattoo machine together, sliding the needle through the tube before pushing it through the vise into the machine, snapping the rubber band around it, and plugging my clip cord in. I grab a few paper towels, a rinse cup, and some gloves while I wait for my client.
I don’t meet anyone’s eyes, tapping my foot restlessly. Everyone here knows me well enough to know that now is not the time. When I’m wound up like this, I need to get inked or fuck to get the anger out of my system. Right now, the closest option is tattooing.
Lo walks out from the back room, surprising me. I figured she’d go home, but here she is, heading to the front desk, looking calm and collected, the only signs of the earlier drama evident by her glassy eyes and red-tipped nose. Cord walks up to her, saying something quietly, and she nods her answer, giving him that bright smile. The fake one, I’m starting to realize. It makes me wonder how often she’s had to hide her pain to become a master at faking it.
She’s so fucking beautiful and complicated. Feral and distrustful. She’s beautiful when she’s smiling, when she’s crying, when she’s fighting, and when she’s writhing beneath me. We gave in to temptation last night, and I was being honest when I said it was a mistake. A complete and utter fucking mistake. Because I didn’t stop thinking about it once all day. At least, not until Eric showed up.
What kind of piece of shit touches a woman like that? For as long as I can remember, I’ve battled my anger, but even at my worst, I had my limits. I’ve never come close to hurting a female. The look on her face when he squeezed her arm flashes through my mind, causing my fist to clench around my machine. I knew something was off the second I saw them. I hung back observing, telling myself to stay the fuck out of it until she pushed him. When he violently jerked her arm, all bets were off. I didn’t plan to hit him. I wanted to fucking end him, but I’ve learned my lesson—at least, I thought I had. I let Lo get under my skin, and I lost control.