Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“I think they’re following you,” he whispers as the SUV rolls past. We hold that position for a moment longer. Rian inches away from me as if he’s about to kiss my lips, his mouth hovering there delicious and dangerous, and a thousand different expletives screech through my brain until I finally shove him. He steps back, not smiling, face contorted in pain and anger like he’s struggling against himself. He turns his back to me and stares at the street.
“What the hell was that? Why the hell were you pawing at me like that?”
He shakes his head. “Gave them a reason to move on. No need to start shooting if they’re not sure they’ll kill you.”
“You were acting like my human fucking shield?”
“You said you wanted me to take a bullet for you, princess.”
“You don’t even know that’s what they were here for.”
“No, I don’t,” he admits, shaking his head. “But I’m not taking chances.”
“This is fucking crazy.” I storm over to him, barely controlling my anger. “You didn’t need to do that. You didn’t have to touch me that way. You didn’t need to—to do any of it.” I’m fuming, glaring at him, and he looks down at me like I’m an alien speaking a strange language.
In that moment, I’m struck by his beauty, by his intensity, by the way he looks like he wants to both consume me and run the hell away. Like there’s a war raging beneath his skin. But he’s a liar, a fake, a cheater, a killer. I know what he is now because he showed his true colors all those years ago. He can pretend like he’s keeping me safe, like he’s willing to do anything to make sure I don’t get hurt, but I don’t believe it.
None of this is real. Rian’s fake. He’s always been fake.
He walks off, crossing the street, and only pauses to look back.
“You’re right, I didn’t need to do any of that, princess. I didn’t need to touch your hips or pin you there against that wall. But I wanted to.” He turns toward my building and shoves his hands into his pocket. “You called me a liar earlier, but I never once lied to you, Daley. Do you remember what I said to you in the hospital after the accident? Do you remember what I told you?”
I close my eyes but that morning is a blur. I remember him lying in a hospital bed covered in gauze, his face bruised badly, his arm in a cast, looking like he was beaten half to death.
I remember screaming at him.
I remember saying things to him that I’ve never said before and won’t say again. Horrible things. I wanted to hurt him so badly, and I lashed out.
But I don’t remember him saying anything to me at all.
“Think about it,” he says, shaking his head as he walks away. “You’re wrong about the accident.”
I stand on the sidewalk with my dinner in a plastic bag, and I want to throw myself into the street, because the idea that I don’t know the full story about my best friend’s death is like a needle in my stomach, even after all these years.
Chapter 8
Daley
The bar is warm and crowded. It’s packed with a post-work mix of young professionals in their business casual attire and older folks looking for a quiet drink before heading to see a show, all of them crammed into booths, elbow-to-elbow at the bar, and perched around high tops like flamingoes.
“So how was your first week?” Abbey asks. She’s a short girl, dark hair, big smile. We both work in the competitive intelligence division of the law firm. She’s been there for a couple of years, and she went out of her way to invite me out to this happy hour. “You seem to be fitting in just fine. Jen says you’re doing great.”
That sends a little jolt of pride into my chest. “It’s been pretty good. The first couple of days were slow, but Jen’s been really good about giving me stuff to keep me busy, and I think I’m learning.”
“That’s awesome.” She clinks her wine glass against mine. Nearby, a few more employees of Wolf Burnstein laugh loudly over beers. One of them is a manager named Forester, a clean-cut guy with a big grin. “You’ll get your feet under you soon, don’t worry. Wolf isn’t such a bad place to work honestly. I mean, you have to deal with all the weird attorneys and stuff, but a lot of them are really nice, and you’ll figure out how to manage the not-so-nice ones.” She laughs and I grin at her.
I want to say, it can’t be worse than dealing with clan thugs and mob politics, but I don’t talk about that aspect of my life with anyone. It took a lot of work to leave that stuff behind, and right now I feel like a normal person for once in my life. I want to bask in this moment, in a glass of wine and a coworker, at least for a little while.