Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“What?”
“You fucking heard me, Rose.”
I see the temperature in her cheeks rising. “What?” she yells.
Oh goody. Here comes round two. I hold up my wine glass. “More wine please, Francesco.”
“Are you fucking joking?”
“No, baby. I’m deadly serious.” About the wine and Sandy. “He’s still alive, and I don’t know where the fuck he is, but when I find him, I’m going to slice him open with a blunt, rusty razor blade and let him bleed out slowly.” I snatch the wine off Francesco and drink straight from the bottle, gasping for air once I’ve swallowed. “Well, this is going well, isn’t it?”
Her nostrils flaring, she stands. “I fucking hate you.” And stomps off, leaving me fighting to rein myself in.
Can’t.
I dive up and stalk after her, armed with my wine, catching her at the door again. I don’t see this one coming, maybe because the red mist is hampering my vision. She turns, swings, and cracks me straight on the nose, and blood bursts from it. “Fuck,” I hiss, dropping the bottle and clenching my nose. I can’t even tell her that was uncalled for. She heaves before me, displaying no remorse whatsoever. I feel psycho. She looks psycho. Two fucking psychos. I wrap a hand around her throat and push her up against the door, getting up in her face. “I think we both need to calm the fuck down before our kids end up orphans.”
“Fuck you,” she hisses, holding my hand on her throat, squeezing. Goading. Standard.
I get my face closer and rub my nose up her cheek. “You—” I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders, and I’m suddenly hauled back, the sharp move jarring Rose, making her cough when my hand yanks on her neck. I hit the deck, back first, and choke on impact, thoroughly winded.
Fuck.
Blinking up at the ceiling, disorientated, I hear the echoing of gasps ringing around the restaurant. “What the fuck?” I wheeze, craning my head to find Rose. She looks worried.
“I think that’s enough.” A man appears above me, dusting off his hands. He actually dusts off his hands. “I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest.”
I burst out laughing, hysterical. Or psychotic. My stomach aches. My nose continues to bleed. Water hampers the red mist further, forcing me to wipe my eyes. I find Rose by the door again. She takes one look at my eyes and pulls it open, leaving.
Because she knows what’s coming.
But the sight of her walking out chases away my amusement and I am livid once again. Unfortunately for Mr. Do-Gooder, he’s my outlet. I look up at him, just as another man steps in, flanking him. And another on the other side. Three beefy pricks who want to save the day. I feel my lip curling and inject all of my rage into my limbs, taking the one on the right down with a kick of my leg. Naturally, in response, the other two pounce, throwing their bodies onto me and trying to pin me down, like two wannabe wrestlers. For fuck’s sake. I don’t have time for this. I have a woman on the loose and being out there alone is not ideal. The thought ramps up the anger, and I use it as my fuel, roaring as I heave them off me, getting to my feet and kicking each of the fuckers in the stomach, not neglecting the other guy on the floor. If I didn’t need to get to Rose, these men would all be in for a very real lesson. I pull my gun out and aim it between the three of them, raising my voice so they can hear me over the panicked gasps. “Get up, get back to your table, and eat your fucking dinner.” Not surprisingly, they all look at each other in question.
“Get the fuck up!” I bellow, searching for Rose out of the window. My patience and sanity lost, I start kicking them up, and practically boot them all back to their tables. “Now sit down, shut up, and eat.” I grab a handful of one of the guy’s pasta and ram it in his face. “And next time, think very carefully before you step into my discussions with my wife.” I shove my gun in my trousers and stalk out of the restaurant, raking a hand though my hair as I look up and down the street. “Rose!” I yell, walking to the corner, searching. “Rose!” I pull out my phone and dial her. It rings off. “Rose!” I pace back up the street, breaking out into a run to the other corner, looking left and right. Nothing. “Fuck.” I dial her again as I rush back to my car, falling into the seat. I get her voicemail, so I leave her a loving message. “I swear to God, Rose, ring me back or—” What the fuck will I do? I slump in my seat. “Baby, please. Don’t leave me here worrying about you. Tell me where you are. Let me pick you up. We can sort this out.” I start the car and pull away, my eyes searching the streets for her.