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)
“She’s right. Decaf.”
“If he has regular this late, he gets heartburn,” Wren told me. “And then he can’t sleep.”
“Then I’m useless in class. It’s a vicious cycle.”
Turning away, I started making his coffee, but something that deep voice of his said had me tensing and then turning.
“Wait a minute,” I said, mouth falling open. “Sir Arthur, the Mad Monk, Mackinnion?” I asked, slapping a hand on the counter.
To that, Wren looked perplexed, but Liam shot me a sheepish smile as a blush crept across his cheeks.
“You’ve heard my work,” he said.
Oh, I’d heard his work, alright.
Now that I recognized it, I knew that voice from half a dozen of the smuttiest romances I’d ever read.
“What is it? What’s got him blushing like that?” Wren asked, smile wicked, wanting to be in on the scoop.
“Oh, little sis. Your charming little studious-looking friend here… he narrates super smutty romance novels,” I told her, watching her eyes light up.
“No way! Which ones? I want to listen!”
“No!” Liam barked, more panicked than angry, and I was so happy to see that Wren didn’t jerk away from the sound.
“Come on! Why not? I want to hear your work.”
“Not that work.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want you to hear…” he started, then let out a strange cough before clearly changing what he was originally going to say. “I want you to hear my more serious work.”
That was not what he was going to say.
What he was going to say was that he wanted her to hear him say those things to her.
Wren seemed a little oblivious to that, though, as the two of them discussed which of the books he’d narrated that she might be interested in.
They stayed at the counter for over two hours, talking, laughing, picking off each other’s plates. And I couldn’t stop watching.
Because, my God, did happiness look good on her.
And I just hoped for her sake that Liam was every bit as good as he appeared to be.
“Okay. We are going to head out,” Wren said as the two of them got up. “Apparently, there is this all-night ice cream place we have to check out. It’s geared toward stoners, but…”
“But stoners have great taste in desserts,” I said.
“Exactly.”
“Have lots of fun,” I told them. “And text me when you get home, okay?” I asked, giving her a hug.
“I will. Liam, it was really nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand when he offered it.
“You too,” he agreed, giving me another of those shy smiles that I decided were my new favorite thing. For Wren at least. For me, I preferred Salvatore’s little cocky smirks.
With that, they headed out.
And it was right about then that I finally realized that Anthony hadn’t shown up.
I made a mental note to text Salvatore, mostly out of concern for Anthony himself, after I handled a few more of my tables who hadn’t been getting the best attention since I’d been a little focused on my sister and Liam.
Liam, who I hoped to see again.
Liam, who I would see again.
Soon.
Way too freaking soon.
And covered in blood.
Practically falling in the front door, clutching his face.
“He took her!” he yelled.
I didn’t have to ask.
I knew.
I knew who took her.
I didn’t stop to think.
I didn’t call for backup.
I just grabbed my purse and ran.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Anthony
I had no idea what the fuck I’d done in this life—or a past one—to deserve the absolute shit luck I’d been dealt.
I mean… shot, stabbed, shot, and now a fucking car accident? Seriously?
That was all I could think of even as I sat there trying to figure out how to get my body untangled from the mangled wreck that was my car.
What the hell had I even hit?
It was all a bit of a blur.
And the impact of the airbag must have knocked me out for a couple of seconds, because my brain felt weird and foggy.
I remembered driving back from the meeting Emilio had sent me on. And traffic being a nightmare. Because it always was.
Then… nothing.
Not until I woke up, that is.
“If I have to spend another fucking week on Salvatore’s fucking couch, I swear to God…” I mumbled to myself as I felt around for my seatbelt clip and pushed the button to disengage it.
My head was hammering, and there was a trickle of blood sliding down my arm.
I didn’t bother to look.
If it was a bone sticking out, it would only psych me out. If it was a piece of glass embedded in my skin, I knew better than to pull it out without someone medical nearby.
So I just ignored the pain as I attempted to pull my legs out from under the steering wheel, finding the foot compartment crushed to a third its usual size.
“Oh, motherfucker,” I hissed as my ankle let out a scream of objection as I started to try to pull it free.