Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 72156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“You’re drinking here.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
I know damned well why. This is the kind of place ex-cons are supposed to go to. Besides, until I get my new driver’s license and access my bank accounts, I can’t afford the kind of wine and bourbon I want to drink.
Oh, and as a parolee, I’m not supposed to be drinking anyway.
Soon, though. Fucking soon.
“So…what do the letters on your knuckles mean?”
I make two fists and look first at my right and then my left hand. On my right hand are the letters R, R, H, and E.
On my left…
A skull and a red ribbon, and the letters F and B.
“Aren’t knuckle tattoos for prison inmates?” she asks.
“No.”
I was an inmate. But inmates aren’t the only ones with tattoos on their knuckles, although I did get mine in prison. My only other work is the falcon on my left arm and the word “savage” on my upper back. One of the best tattoo artists in Texas did my bird. I got “savage” on furlough. The ones on my knuckles? Done by Fargo in cell block C. About the best I can say about his ability is that I didn’t get an infection. Some of the guys he inked did, so I was lucky.
“Then what do yours mean?”
“On my right hand, they’re my siblings’ initials.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Eagle, Hawk, Robin, and Raven.”
My voice automatically softens at Raven’s name. Damn…
Vannah widens her eyes. “You all have bird names?”
“Yup.”
I got done being embarrassed over my name the day I grew over six feet tall at fourteen. No more need to take any shit from anyone. My brothers soon followed suit. We’re all over six three, with Hawk the tallest at six five.
Robin and Raven are both five ten. We come from tall stock.
“Is there a reason for that?” she asks.
“Does there have to be?”
“I guess not. I mean, you didn’t choose your name.”
There is a reason. My mother’s name is Starling, and she loves birds. But that’s my business. I’m not looking to trade life stories with some barfly, no matter how hot she is.
And she is fucking hot.
“And the symbols on the other hand?” she prods.
“F and B are my initials.”
“Oh.”
“And the skull and the ribbon mean savage.”
She jerks backward just a touch. “Savage?”
“Yup.”
I got the nickname inside. Careers thought I’d be an easy mark because I came from an upstanding family. I proved them all wrong in a hurry. Vannah can’t see the ink on my back. I got that when I went on furlough last year to attend my grandmother’s funeral.
“Why savage?”
“Why do you think?” I burn her with my gaze.
Her cheeks turn a rosier pink.
Either she’s frightened or turned on. I’m hoping the latter, but a little of both won’t hurt either.
“So”—she clears her throat—”why do you have your brothers’ and sisters’ initials?”
“To remind me.”
“Of what?”
“That family is everything, sweetheart.”
She blushes further at the endearment. I’m not sure why I said it. Just seemed like a sweetheart moment.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
Vannah takes a sip of the red blend that Iris served her, all while turning to regard her friends.
They’re smiling, laughing, and one of them mouths something to her. I can’t make it out.
She turns back to me, takes another sip. “Sure I can’t get you another?”
“I’m sure.” I pull my wallet back out and throw a few more bills on the bar. “Yours is on me, though.”
“I couldn’t,” she says.
“Sure you can. I haven’t bought a gorgeous woman a drink in a long time.” Eight years to be exact. “Humor me.”
“All right.” She takes another sip. “Well…thank you.”
I rise, head to the back to the restroom, take care of business, and return. “Could I use your phone?” I ask Iris. “My cell’s dead and I need to call a cab.”
I don’t have a cell yet. First order of business tomorrow. Well…second order of business.
“Do you live near here?” Vannah asks.
“Not too far.”
“I can drop you off.”
I raise my eyebrow at her. I’m not any danger to her…but what the hell is she thinking? I just told her my nickname is Savage.
“Thank you, sweetheart, but I can’t impose.”
“It’s no imposition.”
I sit down, this time on the stool right next to hers. “I have two sisters, both a year younger than I am—twins—and I’d never let either of them get into a car with a man they just met. So I’m not letting you do it, either.”
“Are you a threat to me?”
I burn her with my gaze. “What do you think?”
She takes a sip of her wine, her lips trembling. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. I wish I could take you up on your offer, but I’m a gentleman.”
Yeah, that’s a fucking lie. But I was once. Prison changes things.
“You still need the phone?” Iris asks.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“There’s one in the back by the kitchen. It’s a pay phone. You need change?”