Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Then it sounds like there’s nothing you can do.”
I closed my eyes and released a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were thinking about your brother. And you were scared to be in another relationship after how your last one ended. It’s understandable. I’m sure your desire to avenge your brother is sincere, but I wonder if you hid behind that a bit when you broke it off with her. Used it as an excuse in a way.”
Yeah, I probably did.
“I think it’s done,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” I wanted to confront Astrid again, but she’d made her desires very clear. And if I crossed her boundaries, it would be out of selfishness. That wasn’t the kind of man I wanted to be. I fucked it up—and that was on me. “I just wish I knew what happened with that call.”
“Yeah. I do too.”
When I got a call from a blocked number, I knew it was game time.
I answered. “Yes?”
“Ready to get to work?” It was Bolton with his signature arrogance.
There was no going back now. “I should be the one asking that question.”
“I’ll meet you at Chez Patrice at seven.”
“Is this a fucking date?” I snapped. It was a French restaurant, a place for dinner for couples and families, not people like us.
“If it is, you’re the one who’s going to get fucked in the ass after dinner.” He hung up.
I arrived at the restaurant first and got a table for two.
Some of my guys were seated at another table, not blending in whatsoever to the romantic atmosphere. I had more stationed outside, less obvious. No doubt Bolton would do the same.
I ordered a scotch as I waited, my arm draped over the back of the chair next to me, eyes on the door so this fucked-up date could begin. If Bolton fucked around and made this a living hell, it would make me regret my decision more.
As I took a drink of my scotch, I saw him appear in the doorway.
But he wasn’t alone.
He wasn’t flanked by his men with guns poorly hidden from sight in the tops of their jeans. He was with a single person.
Astrid.
He held her hand as he opened the door for her.
She looked radiant, wearing a skintight black dress with an opening in the fabric along her ribs and the side of her stomach, showing beautiful, kissable skin. Her curled hair was pulled over one shoulder, diamond earrings in her lobes. In sky-high heels that gave her several inches of height, she was still short compared to me.
She let him guide her forward as he approached our table. She looked around the restaurant at the other diners then turned her head forward to look at me.
It all happened in slow motion.
The look on her face… She had no idea.
She was fucking blindsided.
As was I.
Her face blanched to the color of snow, and the alarm in her eyes looked like the red and blue lights of a police car. The confidence in her stance evaporated as her shoulders slouched, and she tried to become as small as possible…and disappear.
Bolton looked like he’d never felt more alive.
He pulled out the chair across from me, so she could sit there.
She hesitated as she stood next to the table, looking at me like a frightened animal in the scope.
I was just as surprised, but I did a better job of not showing it.
“Sit down, baby,” Bolton said gently, looking at me as he said the word baby.
She slowly lowered herself as the chair caught her ass. Then she went still, her eyes moving to the surface of the table, the quick pulse in her neck twitching noticeably as she suffered a silent panic.
Bolton took his seat and waved for the waitress. “I’ll take a glass of the Bordeaux. My wife will have the same.” His eyes were glued to mine like an arts and crafts project. When the waitress left, he cocked his head slightly and continued his silent standoff. He moved his arm over the back of Astrid’s chair.
He might as well unbutton his pants and piss on her.
It should hurt to see her with him right across from me, but I had no reason to be jealous. Not when she looked fucking miserable. Not when her husband forced her into a situation that made her so uncomfortable she couldn’t even look at me.
There was only one explanation for his behavior.
He knew.
He knew I’d tried to take her away from him.
Astrid would never snitch, so he’d figured it out some other way. Maybe it was her mood. Maybe it was something she said over dinner. Maybe he had one of his guys watch the front door while she worked in the gallery.
It didn’t matter now.
The waitress returned with the drinks, and she seemed to pick up on the threat that hung in the air like smoke because she chose to walk away rather than ask if we wanted a starter.