Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I needed a fresh start, a place that hadn’t been infected by Bartholomew’s presence, a place that would be free of his ghost.
23
BARTHOLOMEW
Someone shook me. “Bartholomew?”
I lay there, unable to open my eyes.
“He’s been like this all day,” Bleu said. “You think I should call an ambulance?”
Someone shook me again, this time harder. Then they slapped me across the face. “Asshole, wake up.”
I recognized that voice.
“I’ve never seen him like this,” Bleu said.
“I have.” He slapped me again, even harder than the last.
My eyes finally snapped open, and I almost rolled off the couch. “Hit me again and…” The world spun, and I almost slid to the hardwood floor.
His hand caught me. “You’ll what?” Benton asked. “Slur me to death?” He forced me back onto the couch. “Alcohol poisoning. Call Maurice.”
Bleu took off.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Benton demanded.
The migraine kicked in as I became more conscious. “Jesus…”
“Are you trying to kill yourself? Put the gun in your mouth and pull the trigger next time.” He slapped me again.
“Fuck, I’m awake!”
“That one was just for the hell of it.” He lifted me and forced me to sit upright against the couch. “Your head will feel better.”
I sat there, slouched against the couch, my head throbbing. The bottles and glasses were on the coffee table where I’d left them.
Minutes later, my doctor arrived and stuck an IV in my arm. He hydrated me as well as pumped me with some drugs. It took a couple minutes, but I started to feel better, though I’d never felt so weak.
Benton sat on the other couch, dogging me with a hateful look.
“You didn’t have to come.”
“Apparently I’m the only man you trust, and I don’t even work with you anymore. Pretty fucking sad.”
“Or you could take it as a compliment…”
“No. It’s just a nuisance.”
My head rested on the back of the cushion, and I looked at the ceiling. I was still drunk, so after a couple minutes, I forgot Benton was there.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
My eyes opened again, coming back into consciousness. “Hard day.”
“The last time you had a hard day was when you went to kill your parents but changed your mind when you realized they had more kids and never bothered to look for you.”
“Good times…”
“What happened with Laura?”
“Why do you assume it’s her?”
“Because she’s the only one who has the power to hurt you like this.”
I closed my eyes again, my eyelids suddenly heavy. “It wasn’t her.”
“Then who?”
“Me.” My eyes opened again, and I shifted my body farther up the couch. “It was me…” I’d hated myself a lot over the years, but never at this intensity.
“What did you do?”
“I asked her to give up her dream to be with me—but I wouldn’t do the same for her.” I was such a fucking asshole. All the fight had left my body when she’d said those words…because they were true. I didn’t deserve her. I’d never deserved her. I’d walked into her shop and ruined her goddamn life. What if I had just kept walking? What if I hadn’t tainted her life with my bullshit?
Benton was quiet for a long time.
The words absorbed into my skin—and hurt even more.
“You broke up with her?”
“She left me.” I told him what happened with Silas. “I didn’t protect her, Benton. And she’s right… There’s no guarantee I’ll be able to protect her in the future. She made the right choice. I should have made it for her.”
He was quiet again, processing all of that. “You love this woman, Bartholomew.”
I raised my arm with the IV in my vein. “Clearly.”
“But you’re going to choose this life over her?”
“It’s a life sentence, Benton. You don’t just walk away—”
“That’s a bullshit excuse, and you know it.”
I directed my gaze elsewhere, keeping Benton in my peripheral so I wouldn’t have to see the disappointment on his face.
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Then fix it before it’s too late.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
I said nothing.
“Why?” he repeated. “You have more money than you know what to do with. Walk away—and be with the woman you love. Enjoy your life.”
I ignored him.
“Bartholomew, help me understand—”
“Because I’m nothing without it.” I looked at him head on. “I’m just a man. That’s it.”
His voice turned quiet, approaching the topic with gentleness. “That’s exactly what she wants, Bartholomew—”
“She wants the man she met. The man who terrifies people. The man who owns these streets and everyone in them. I’ll just be a fucking nobody with a lot of money. Weak. Boring. Forgettable. And then what happens? She leaves me. She leaves me—and I’m left with nothing.” I probably wouldn’t have said any of that if I weren’t still drunk, with painkillers saturating my system. “She’ll leave like everyone else. I’ve built the Chasseurs from nothing. It’s always been there for me, always been the place I belong, my purpose in life. I work nonstop because I enjoy it—”