Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
I knock on the bathroom door and call through it, “I’m heading down to the bar!”
“What?” The shower stops. “Maxine, hold up—”
“I’ll be fine!” Physically.
Emotionally…I just don’t know.
I shove the room’s keycard into my pocket and head out. Stone calls my name again but I don’t stop. I just need to make this pain go away. For a little while.
The bartender’s quick to take my order. Stone’s quick, too—sliding into the stool beside mine before my drink even arrives, his hair still wet and his damp shirt clinging to every thick muscle. Concern darkens his expression.
“Hey.” His voice is low and gentle, and I can’t stand it. “What’s going on?”
I don’t even know. Just that there’s a knot in my throat and the whole fucking world is shit.
And I’m about to cry. But I won’t. I won’t.
Still, it’s hard to get a single word out, let alone a string of them. “I just…want to be angry again.”
Because that was so much easier. So much simpler. When it was rage that drove me away from witness protection and after Stone, when all that mattered was nailing Papa to the wall. But I’ve never been good at being mad for a long time.
“Instead of hurting?”
Lips pressed tight, I nod.
“That why you’re down here? Maybe thinking you’ll drink until it doesn’t hurt so much?” When I nod again, he leans in, tenderly brushing the backs of his knuckles down my cheek. “Problem with that, angel, is we’re on a mission now. You and I are a team—and our purpose is bringing down Papa. So we need to stay sharp. And remember how you felt this morning? That was the opposite of sharp, I’m guessing.”
While I was hungover. Fuzzy and sick.
I pull in a shuddering breath. “It was.”
“So we’ll find another way for you to stop hurting so much, all right? Somewhere for you to put all of what’s boiling inside you.” His lips quirk. “Are you sure you can’t find some rage for me? You’ve been there a couple of times.”
“Because you’re safe.” My drink arrives but I don’t reach for it. “You won’t hurt me for getting angry. Or for lashing out. Or for fighting.”
“I couldn’t hurt you for any reason.” His gaze moves over my face. “Is that what you want to do—fight? Because you can lay in on me anytime if you want to blow off steam. Or I’ll teach you a few moves so you’ll always feel safer. Or hit the gym with me, get those endorphins going.”
Oh god. How selfish can I be? I hesitantly ask, “Is that why you were gone so long—because you’re hurting, too?”
“Yeah. Though just in one spot.” His crooked grin appears, a flashing curve that I feel straight through my heart. “But also because I’m the brawn on this team. So I gotta stay strong.”
Just in one spot.
I reach for my drink, but only to have something to hold and look at. Because I can’t meet his eyes now. Not when everything inside me is suddenly shifting around, hope and fear tumbling together.
Stone said that he’d never touch me again. And that felt like such a rejection. But he also thinks the only reason I slept with him was out of guilt and to pay him back. So he said that he was sorry, too.
He never said that he doesn’t want me, though. That was what I heard. But it wasn’t what he said.
If Stone says now that he doesn’t want me, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop hurting. And I’m terrified, so terrified that he will. That I’ve misunderstood again.
But he’s such a good man. And a good man who swears that he won’t touch a woman would keep that promise. Even after he married her. Even after he carried her to a honeymoon suite. Even after he looked at her with so much heat in his eyes. That good man might leave as fast as he could, because a man hurting in one spot can’t easily hide his want. Especially a man as well-endowed as Stone.
My heart pounds, so fast. So afraid. Because I might be wrong.
But I was so happy before. And I don’t want to wait anymore for what makes me happy. Because I never know when it might be gone.
Thinking it was gone for a few days felt bad enough.
Clutching the glass tight, I whisper, “And there’s sex.”
Though I don’t glance in his direction, I feel how tense he becomes. “What about it?”
“People use sex to blow off steam.” I still can’t look at him. “Or to feel good when they’re hurting.”
“Yeah, they do.” There’s a wry note in his reply, but no amusement. Instead each word seems taut and careful, as if he’s crossing a tightrope over a bottomless pit.
As if he isn’t sure whether I’m talking about what I need, or about how he used me the same way…or if I’m thinking of someone else.