Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
The lobby and front studio were nearly pitch black, odd for a sunny day at ten thirty in the morning.
“What the hell?” he whispered as he stared at the inside of the filthy windows and tucked his nose into his T-shirt. As soon as he stepped outside, the smell smacked him in the face. As bad as it’d been inside, up close and personal, it was ten times worse.
Someone had covered his entire storefront with shit. It looked disgusting, smelled worse, and would be a nightmare to clean. The sheer volume of mess led him to believe someone had borrowed the materials from a nearby farm.
He glanced at his watch with a heavy sigh. In a little over an hour, he’d have ten toddlers and their mothers for a mommy-and-me Intro to Movement class.
Fantastic.
What was wrong with people? He didn’t have to wonder why someone did it. Their reason was as clear as the reason for the odor.
Bullshit.
He supposed he should consider himself lucky this was the first time someone had openly expressed their hatred. When he’d moved to this town, he fully expected a hostile environment from day one. But when that didn’t happen and folks seemed excited about the dance studio, he’d hoped Swan wasn’t as backward a town as he’d feared. And that hope led to complacency. Before long, he was living and acting as he’d done in New York, out and proud without an ounce of caution.
Figured that’s when the universe decided to knock him down.
After raiding his supply closet for a host of industrial strength cleaning products, sponges, squeegees, and gloves, he’d set about cleaning the windows. Ten minutes into that delightful chore, he realized he needed help and called Tate.
Thank God for that man and his ability to make Liam smile.
He got back to work, scrubbing the windows as he waited for Tate to arrive with all his delicious muscles and work ethic. Hopefully, together, they could knock this out before his class began in an hour. As he scraped the shit off the window into a large trash can, something fell to the ground with a thunk.
He frowned, muttering, “What is that?” If he looked past the mess, it seemed to be something yellow. “A duck?” He grabbed it with gloves and set it on the sidewalk. Why on earth would there be a duck in the—
Oh shit.
A rubber ducky.
With that, he knew who had vandalized his shop. Either Ducky was a complete narcissist who couldn’t imagine himself going down for this, or he thought Liam would be too scared to report the incident to the police. Well fuck that. The first break he got today, he’d be making a trip to the police station. He bet Ducky’s parole officer would love to hear about this.
The rumble of a truck's engine had Liam peeking over his shoulder. Sure enough, Tate pulled into the lot at the wheel of his work pickup. His eyes immediately went to the soiled windows, and his expression darkened with such intense fury that Liam took a step back on instinct.
Instead of choosing a parking spot, Tate screeched to a halt, his car taking up three spaces. He flung the door open and barreled out of the car like a raging hurricane.
“What the fuck?” he roared, his voice echoing off the building.
Liam winced.
“This is so much worse than you described.”
Liam shrugged. “How do you even explain something like this?”
Tate paced, his anger radiating off him in waves. “What kind of sick bastard…” He grabbed the back of his neck and shouted to the sky. “I hate this fucking town!”
When his rage subsided for a moment, Liam pointed to the dirty rubber duck on the sidewalk. “Pretty sure I know which sick bastard did this.”
Tate’s eyes followed his finger. As soon as he registered the meaning behind the toy duck, an icy chill filled the air.
Oh shit.
If he thought Tate had been furious when he arrived, Liam didn’t know his man as well as he thought he did. Tate went eerily calm, his every muscle coiled with lethal intent. His eyes darkened with pure hatred, and his fists clenched. He spun around, heading back to the car with stiff, jerky strides.
“Tate!” Liam called as he flung his bulky cleaning gloves off. “Where are you going?” He grabbed his man’s shoulder as he reached the truck, spinning him around. “What are you doing?”
Tate took a menacing step forward, but Liam stood firm. No matter how enraged he became, Tate wouldn’t hurt him. Liam knew that with every fiber of his being.
“I’m going to kill him, Luxe.”
“Tate…” He placed a hand on each of Tate’s shoulders. “Take a breath and—”
“I’m going to fucking kill him!” he roared in Liam’s face.
Holy shit.
“Tate, shut the hell up!” he shouted right back, glancing around. Thank God, no one happened to be walking by. The last thing they needed was a witness hearing Tate threaten Ducky.