Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Leave it to your mother to lecture you about being single while two women’s lives were hanging in the balance.
“Enz, it’s Anthony,” I said as soon as he answered. “We got a problem. Whitney’s sister was taken by that shitbag ex of hers. And Whitney went after her. Yeah. Okay. I’m at the diner. Long story,” I added when he questioned why I hadn’t gone to save Wren. “Yeah. Okay. Right. Good. Yeah, you can get me on this number,” I assured him, not bothering to ask the owner if I could cop his phone.
“Is Wren going to be okay?” the guy asked after I finished my call.
“What? She your girl?”
“No. Not yet. I mean, I hope one day,” he added, uncomfortable. “She’s not gonna want me now,” he claimed, hanging his head.
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t protect her.”
“Listen, I’m not the comforting sort of guy. But I can say by looking at you that it looks like you put up a hell of a fight. I mean, no offense, but it doesn’t look like you’ve ever hit a gym, so it’s impressive you fought hard enough to bust open those knuckles. This girl, if she’s anything like her big sister, she will be over-the-fucking-moon that you’d done what you could. Even if, in the end, it just wasn’t your lucky day.”
“Hey, you,” I called as a busser moved past, eyeing us carefully. “I’m gonna need you to take over for Whitney for a while, okay?” I asked. “Give you five grand to do it and not say shit about this. Same for you,” I said to the cook through the window. “Not a fucking word to the shithead boss of yours, and you get five-k for keeping this place running for the night.”
No one turned me down, not with that kind of money on the line.
So I hobbled my ass behind the counter to get the poor guy who’d lost Whit’s sister some ice and paper towels to clean off the blood.
It was probably all of fifteen minutes before my brother was bursting into the diner, his gaze falling on me.
“Jesus Christ. The fuck, Ant?” he asked, waving a hand up and down me.
“Long story that ends with a hit-and-run and me getting here too late. So I might need some fucking Witness Protection after Salvatore finds out what is going down.”
“Salvatore is already on his way to go get Whit and Wren,” Emilio said, jerking his chin toward the guy at the counter.
“Ah, this is…”
“Liam,” the guy supplied.
“Right. Liam. He’s hoping to bag Whit’s sister some day.”
“Looks like you got a chance,” Emilio said, looking over his injuries. “You need to see a doctor?”
“I’m fine. I think,” Liam said. “I think I bruised some ribs,” he added.
“Just think, if that girl is in good shape when she gets free of that fuck, she’s gonna want to be waiting on you hand and foot for trying to save her,” I said, giving him a nod as hope rose in his eyes for the first time.
“The fuck is with you and wanting to be waited on?” Emilio asked.
“You’re just jealous that you haven’t been sick or hurt in a decade, so no one is waiting on your ass,” I said.
“Yeah, that must be it. So you said you were hit-and-run on?” he asked, since there was nothing else we could do but just talk and wait to hear some news.
“Yeah. I don’t really remember. It’s all fuzzy. I mostly remember coming to and some chick was calling the ambulance for me and she said there was paint on my hood. And the cops said something about glass on the road. But there was no car. What? You think it wasn’t random?”
“You never fucking know with our Family,” he said, reaching for his phone and dialing, I imagined, Lorenzo. “Enz. Ant was hit-and-run on tonight. Yeah. Looks like a broken foot. I know, right?” he asked, and I could just imagine there was some joke at my expense. “Yeah. No. I’ll tell my mom so she doesn’t have an aneurism. Okay. Keep us posted.”
“Everything alright?” I asked.
“Yeah. Are you?” he asked, losing some of the bravado, becoming just my brother. My worried big brother.
“Still running on adrenaline. Bet I’m gonna feel like shit when that wears off. And my car…”
“Fuck your car. I’ll find you a new one. Sit your ass down for a minute,” he demanded, grabbing a chair and moving it toward me.
“Salvatore is gonna fucking kill me,” I said, sighing.
“If you were out back getting your dick sucked, maybe. But you were in a fucking accident, kid. You couldn’t help that shit.”
Maybe that was true.
But if something had happened to Whit on my watch, even if Salvatore forgave me, I wasn’t ever going to forgive myself…
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Whitney
Panic, fresh and electric, sparked through my system.