Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
I hide my face, feigning shame.
Rocky takes a heavy, fake post-sex breath and skates a hand through his damp hair, acting as though he’s piecing together this mystery, too. “Honey?” He speaks gently to me. “Do you know this dweeb?”
I drop my hands. “I, uh . . .”
Rocky pulls the bloodied rag out from between my legs, and Patrick loses it. “No, no, nonono,” he repeats with a frantic shake of his head. “This isn’t happening.”
I spring off the bed. “Patrick, Patrick.” I go to him, robe secured with three knots around my body. “I’m so sorry.” I try to sound distraught.
Rocky is leisurely collecting his boxer briefs and putting them on, the elastic at his hips, but when I risk another glance, I see so much strictness straining his muscles.
Patrick threads his fingers on his head, pacing back and forth near a black-and-white framed photograph of Times Square.
As I come closer, I see Oliver skulk farther into the entryway, observing his fake friend closely. Thank you for not coming all the way inside this room, Oliver.
Patrick restarts his hysterical headshake. “No, no.”
“Patrick.” I reach out to him. “I’m so—”
He slaps me right across the face, so hard that I stumble backward, and the sting is instant.
“HEY!” Rocky yells and shoots forward the same time Oliver does.
I blink, and Rocky already has Patrick by the collar. There is no pause in him. He slams a brutal fist into the mark’s cheekbone. The anguished cry that ejects out of Patrick is of a man who has never been physically harmed before. Yet he was so fucking quick to slap me.
I holster a glare. I’m supposed to be sad, upset. I blink a few more times, my emotions cycling through a washing machine.
“You motherfucker,” Rocky sneers through his teeth, about to lay another fist in him.
“Stop!” Patrick cries and crumples against the wall with his hands raised. “Stop! BRIAN!” He’s calling for Oliver, and my brother is forced to squat down to this asshole and be his saving grace.
“Back off, man,” Oliver says to Rocky in a voice that sounds unnaturally tight for my brother.
I taste the iron of blood in my mouth. My lip throbs.
Rocky’s fury bleeds into the hotel suite. He could so easily beat Patrick to a pulp, but if the mark feels justified in going to the cops and trying to press assault charges, it could jeopardize all of our lives.
A punch for a slap needs to be the cutoff.
Rocky knows this, and he wields more restraint than even I understand. It’s as though he can rewind a volcanic eruption, gathering magma and withstanding the burn just to force the destruction down.
Slowly, Rocky begins to release his grip off the mark, and he retrieves his slacks, belt, and white button-down from the floor. “Come here, honey.” He gestures to me, and I find it hard to move.
Why . . . ?
I blink a few more times, vaulting between nausea and an emptiness. Rocky approaches me fast, and he holds my face with tenderness and inspects my lip. It must be split.
“You okay?” he whispers so quietly.
I try to nod.
I just want this awful job to finally end.
“Go get dressed,” he murmurs.
Right. I power through the night. While I get clothed in record time in the bathroom, I tune out the verbal lashing between Rocky and Patrick.
I come out and Rocky clasps my hand. I can’t tell who’s gripping tighter, me or him.
“You’re good, Patrick. I have you,” Oliver says and tries to calm him down.
Patrick watches in horror and revulsion as I choose to leave with my lover who “deflowered” me over him.
The rope has been pulled, and Oliver is tasked with closing off the final bits of the con.
Rocky and I are out of there. We don’t talk. A silent subway ride later where we remain holding hands, we climb into a parked Chevy in the Bronx, and we let go.
Nova is behind the wheel. He’s driving us to Staten Island, where we’ll meet up with Hailey. Finally. While I lie across the backseat, Patrick eventually texts me horrifying messages about how I’m meant for eternal damnation, and he calls off the wedding.
Oliver relays via phone call that a grateful Patrick agreed to make good on losing the bet. According to Patrick, Oliver just saved him from a lifetime of misery and deceit. He’ll wire his friend the money. He’s sending half tonight, half tomorrow.
I fall into a light sleep and only wake to Rocky and Nova yelling.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rocky nearly shouts. “No idea.”
“It’s always the same with you,” Nova retorts with a similar heat. “You act like he’s Satan, when he’s nothing even close.”
Rocky growls, “Oh, he’s got you fucking fooled, man. You’re playing right into his bullshit.”
Nova grits through his teeth, “God, I wish I had your father. Don’t you get it?! He treats your mom with nothing but respect. He adores her. Like she’s not someone to abuse at the end of a fucking night. He’s never laid a hand on you or your brother or your sister. He’d drop anything to be there for his kids, and you don’t even see it. You don’t even know the good that you have when it’s right in front of you.”