Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Anna’s father was a monster, and the only reason I can sleep at night is because I know he’s six feet under.
Her eyes go wide, the kind of wide that says she believes me.
“Well, shit,” she says, folding the toilet paper and carefully tucking it into her pocket. “I’ll keep your number, then.”
“Moira,” I say, tapping my chest.
“Daniela.”
She offers the joint again, but I wave it off, shaking my head. “My supervisor will put my tits in a vise if she finds out I’ve been smoking on the job.”
We both dissolve into laughter, the kind that’s too loud for how unfunny the situation really is.
“Tits in a vise,” Daniela giggles, clutching her stomach like it’s the best joke she’s heard all year.
I’m wiping tears from the corners of my eyes when my phone buzzes in my pocket. It takes me a minute to fish it out—my fingers suddenly feel like bratwurst. Jesus, where did she find such good weed around here?
“Dammit,” I giggle, finally managing to get it out.
It’s a text from Bane. My fingers are still clumsy, but I click on it.
Bane: Thinking of you gorgeous.
I sigh dreamily and type,
Me: Back at you, Sexy.
Daniela squints at me, her grin slipping into something sharper. “Ugh, I know that look. Don’t fall for his bullshit, whoever he is.”
“Not all guys are bad news,” I say automatically, but my voice wobbles like a chair with one short leg.
She tips her head back against the wall, exhaling like I’m exhausting. “Oh, naïve sweet summer child.”
I snort. “If you knew me, you’d know naïve is the last word to use. Besides, how old are you? You look twelve.”
She scowls. “I’m twenty.”
“Well, I’m twenty-two. That makes me your wise elder.”
“Blow it out your ass,” she fires back, grinning. “My sister’s twenty-two, and she’s shit at telling good men from bad ones.”
“She knew enough to send you here when your boyfriend got violent.”
Daniela scoffs with a bitter little sound. “As if she’s one to talk.” She looks at me, her gaze sharp enough to cut. “Your man ever lay hands on you?”
I waggle my eyebrows. “Only when I want him to.”
She shakes her head, exhaling smoke. “Just wait. All men are dogs. You met his mama? Any of his friends?”
I frown.
Um. No. Not really.
Her face shifts into an I-told-you-so expression, and my heart sinks to my stomach, then down out my asshole.
“Be real,” she says, grinning now. “You’re his sneaky link.”
“I’m not.”
He’s just British. All his family lives back there. I think.
She arches a brow. “Do you even go on dates outside of his apartment?”
I open my mouth. Then close it. “Well… it’s my apartment.”
But even as I say it, something cold creeps into the pit of my stomach. Because—shit. The bishop said we couldn’t be seen together. Or was that just the most convenient story ever to keep me out of his business because fuck—
Am I actually his…?
Daniela bursts into laughter, doubling over like she’s heard the second funniest punchline in the world.
“You are his sneaky link and don’t even know it. He could have a whole-ass family in another state, and you’d be none the wiser.”
“No!” I protest, heat rising in my cheeks. “I’ve seen his house. There’s no secret family.”
She gives a nonchalant little, “Heh, whatever you say,” then hops down from the toilet tank. She stubs out the joint on the edge of the stainless steel trash can, pocketing the rest with the kind of casual defiance that says she’s been doing this a long time.
“Stay chill, Moira.”
“Same to you, Daniela.”
As the door clicks shut behind Daniela, the lingering haze of weed-scented air feels like it’s pressing down on me. But it’s not the smoke that’s suffocating.
Oh my god. I’m so fucking stupid. Prancing around like a fucking idiot.
Why haven’t I ever pressed to know more about Bane’s past? I mean, it’s not like I haven’t asked here and there. But he always just…
Changes the subject.
Turns the question back on me.
Offers something vague, then distracts me with sex.
I told myself it’s normal not to want to talk about the past. Mine’s not all that rosy and I’m certainly not sharing monologues about it. But he’s met my friends. And if I was on speaking terms with Domhn, I think I might’ve introduced them by now.
Still, it could be normal… right?
Fuck, what if it’s not normal? What the fuck would I know about normal, anyway?
Daniela was right. Maybe I am naïve. A sweet summer child thinking I’ve learned from my mistakes when really I’m just dressing them up prettier this time.
Because here I still am, trusting that a good fuck equals a good man. Tumbling headfirst into something, only for it to drop out from underneath me. Leaving me falling, all right. Straight into the shit. Into trouble so bad, like last year when I broke my brother’s heart.