Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
The one on the bald man’s side is shorter, his black hair combed back, and a chunky gold necklace hangs around his neck. His hand strays toward his hip, then pauses, but the implication is clear. There’s an outline of a holster and a gun beneath his jacket, just about visible.
“Something tells me this might not be an entirely legitimate business,” I say, grinning as I turn to Keith.
His bravado falters when he sees my smile.
“Be careful what you say,” he murmurs, sounding like a complete coward. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Neither do you,” I say, “but you might find out. In the meantime, I’ll take an apology for what you said to Evie.”
Keith is already shaking his head before I finish talking, but then I dart forward and grab the front of his shirt. I lift him off his feet, his legs kicking, my arm tensing tightly as I raise him higher and higher. The men rush around the table, standing close to me, but they can do nothing when I’ve got their boss in my grip. Keith whimpers like a pathetic little kid.
“Say it,” I growl.
“No way,” Keith whines. “Never going to happen, tough guy. If you hurt me, you’re not leaving here alive.”
I stare at him for a few more moments and then drop him, forearm burning, not with exertion but with the desire to do more. I want to hurt this bastard and make him apologize, but unless I’m willing to get in a three-on-one fight to the death, I’ve got to play this smart. When I turn, the shorter man has his hand on his hip, jacket pushed aside, holding the grip of his Glock pistol.
“Time for you to leave,” he says stiffly, “and be thankful you’re not in a body bag.”
I smirk at him. “I’d break your arm before you got that thing out of the holster, you fucking amateur.”
“Do you really believe that?” the bald man asks with genuine curiosity.
“Maybe we’ll get a chance to find out.”
I push past the men, hitting the shorter one with my shoulder so hard he stumbles against the wall. They must have a violence radar, too, because they don’t retaliate. They know I’m not bluffing.
Outside, I take out my cell phone and call an old friend.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Evie
When the knock comes at my bedroom door, I spin quickly, thinking it’s Brian. He’s come to apologize for how we left things, his burning hot, then ice cold routine, but then I shake my head at myself, letting out a shuddering breath.
He did the right thing, getting cold with me, ending things before they could begin. I have to remember that.
“Evie?”
It’s Dad, and I almost scream at him to leave.
“Yeah?”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
When he walks into my bedroom, I know right away he’s here to talk about Brian.
It’s the hope in his eyes. He’s always so keen for me to do well, supporting any decision I make, the best father a woman could ask for, and a truly good person.
I can still taste his best friend on my lips. I’m also sure I can still feel his best friend on my sex and the aftershocks of what we did.
“So, how did it go?”
“Uh, not great.”
“What do you mean?”
Heck, here it goes. I’m going to have to lie to him. He’ll see Brian, ask about the tattoo, and maybe even ask to see it.
“I got so nervous, Dad,” I say, hating myself. “I just freaked. I couldn’t go through with it. A tattoo is so permanent, you know?”
A tattoo is something that you can’t take back. Maybe covered or erased, but there will always be some mark there, however vague, just like with me and Brian.
I can never take back what we did today.
“Oh, Evie, I’m sure he’ll give you another chance.”
I shrug. If Dad knew the truth, another chance is the last thing he’d want for us.
“Maybe,” I murmur.
“I know Brian, and I know he will. Let me give you his cell phone number so you can arrange another session.”
He takes out his cell and swipes through his contacts. It reminds me of when I was a kid, and I sneaked Dad’s phone and found Brian’s number, but then I was too nervous to call it. The fantasy could carry on in my mind, but if I ever brought it into the real world, it wouldn’t work, but not anymore. We did work, amazingly, if only for a little while.
“Call or text him,” Dad says once he reads the number, “Or look for another job or college, but you know us, Evie…”
“We won’t have our daughter moping around the house doing nothing.”
Dad laughs as I imitate his voice, and I smile. It feels like a genuine moment for half a second before everything crashes down.
“Would you have it any other way?”