Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 558(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 558(@300wpm)
“Oh, that’s good stuff,” I said when I immediately felt a buzz. Just as I began to imagine Tuesday murdering her abusive baby daddy and burying the body somewhere, something she’d said tugged at my memory. “You said he showed up on a Saturday?”
Her focus was back on stocking the bar, so she hadn’t noticed my shift in mood. “Yeah, why?”
“Who was working that day? Which King?” I clarified when she looked up at me in confusion.
“Oh.” She shrugged and turned away again. “It was Rowdy, I think.”
I exhaled slowly and started stacking the glasses so that I had something to do with my hands.
Bad idea.
I must have been more upset than I realized because I dropped one and it shattered. To make my reaction even more embarrassing, I stupidly crouched to pick up the shards with my bare hands and sliced my palm open.
Blood dripped onto the floor, and I fell into a trance as I watched it puddle on the concrete. The floor up here wasn’t smooth like the lower levels, so it would probably even stain.
Troublesome blood.
Mine wasn’t even particularly special. It wasn’t worth its weight in gold, wondrously rare, giving, or receptive.
But it had led me to the truth of who I was—and who I wasn’t.
“Oh, my God! Atlas!”
Hearing Tuesday’s shout, I snapped out of my stupor and dispassionately watched as she bent, grabbed my hand, and inspected my palm before pressing the dish towel I’d been using to dry the glasses against the wound. I then let her lead me downstairs even though I didn’t know what for.
I still didn’t catch on to her intention until we entered the workshop. I opened my mouth to object, but it was too late.
“We need help,” Tuesday’s dramatic ass announced. “Atlas is hurt.”
All four heads of the Kings swiveled our way.
“It’s not that bad.” I waved her off with my free hand.
Unfortunately, she chose that moment to hold up the injured one, bringing their attention to the blood already soaking through the cloth.
To my utter horror, it was Rowdy who was first to act.
He had been sitting in the driver’s seat of the Cadillac, one foot planted on the ground and the other revving the engine, but then he was out of the car quicker than a man his size should be allowed to move. He shoved his friends aside to gently take my hand from Tuesday. “What happened, T?”
I rolled my eyes at him asking her about my injury just to avoid speaking to me. “Not sure, boss. Atlas was cleaning the glasses when she dropped one and must have cut herself cleaning it up.”
Rowdy said nothing as he pulled the towel back and revealed the jagged cut along my palm.
“Shit,” Joren cursed as his nosy ass peered around Rowdy. “She should probably go to the hospital. That looks deep.”
“No.” I snatched my hand from Rowdy and backed away a step while they all looked at me like I was crazy.
If I went to the hospital, they’d send the bill to my mom since I couldn’t very well have them send it to the motel or…here. My mom, if she was even lucid, would find out I wasn’t at school.
Then again, maybe she’d finally be my mom again when she inevitably tried to force me to come home. But I couldn’t go home—not yet.
“I’ll be fine.” I was sure it looked worse than it actually was because of all the blood.
“That must be common sense you’re dripping all over my floor instead of blood,” Rowdy snapped. “You’re not fine.”
“Give me a first aid kit, and I will be. Do you have one?”
Rowdy just stared at me for a long moment before nodding. “Yeah, come on.”
“Just tell me where it is. I don’t need your help. I can take care of it my—” My rant was cut off when Rowdy grabbed my nape in a punishing grip and forced me forward. I fought him all the way up the stairs, but I was no match for him with two hands. It was useless with only one. All I managed to do was irritate him more, so much so that his control eventually slipped, and he spanked my ass hard enough to make me gasp.
“Now, are you going to behave?” he questioned menacingly. “Or do I have to light your ass on fire to make you hear me?” When I wisely kept my mouth shut, he steered me to his office and into his private bathroom, which was minimally decorated and clean to the point of OCD.
“Sit down.” He punctuated his command by shoving me down onto the closed toilet lid.
“Rowdy—”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Atlas. You’ve said enough.” I watched him yank open the medicine cabinet and pull out a first aid kit. “Give me your hand.” This time, I didn’t bother to argue and just held out my arm. He moved to stand over me, his legs straddling mine, and pressed a wadded strip of gauze to my wound. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded while we waited for the bleeding to stop. He didn’t sound angry, though. He sounded concerned. It was hard to reconcile the Rowdy I’d met only a week ago with the one before me now.