Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 464(@300wpm)
But I needed this to be over. I needed to stretch out my back, shoulders and neck. I needed to pay bills. I needed to go to the grocery store. I needed to do laundry. I needed to keep busy like I always was apt to keep busy (what could I say? life was to be lived, and I was the kind of chick who lived it), but that went into overdrive post-Knox because sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes, if I kept busy I wouldn’t think of him.
His mouth on mine.
His hands on my body.
His cock moving inside me.
His smile aimed at me over a cup of coffee.
The sound of his voice in the dark, post-making love, while he shared his life and goals and dreams with me, and the feel of his attention while he listened when I gave him the same.
It was Harlow who approached and pulled me into her arms, whispering in my ear, “I hate it that it didn’t work out, Luna.”
I hated it too.
More than words could say.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, giving her a squeeze.
When Harlow moved away, Joey stated, “We need to talk about other things, but I sense you still need some time.”
And I sensed what those other things were.
The Angels wading into Knox’s sister’s bullshit.
I had to give headspace to that because I wasn’t sure it was wise. Case in point: Knox lying in a hospital bed with two holes in him.
We were servers, bartenders, pastry chefs and vigilantes.
Knox was a trained soldier, who then got more training to be a private investigator, and he still got drilled with two bullets.
I didn’t speak of that in the mo’, I just nodded.
I got more hugs, understanding murmurs and suggestions of shopping trips, coffee klatches or lunch dates, and sad looks aimed my way as the girls filed out until only Raye remained.
“Please get me,” I said softly.
“I get you,” she replied, studying me closely.
“Okay then, don’t be pissed at me.”
“I’m not pissed at you, Loon.” She sighed. “Like I said, I get you. Cap and I have actually talked about the eventuality of this kind of thing. Hot guys. Hot girls. Spending a lot of time together, sometimes doing that wearing bathing suits. Hormones. Pheromones. Availability during dry spells. And how all of that could mess up a good thing irrevocably.”
“You still wish I told you.”
“Well, yeah,” she said, and a small smile hit her lips. “But it isn’t like I don’t know you, babe. And knowing you, I know there are parts of you that you always keep to yourself. I’d be no friend at all if I pried those out before they were mine to have.”
God’s honest truth.
She was the bestest best bestie a bestie could ever have.
“Thanks, sister,” I whispered.
“I hate it didn’t work out,” she whispered back.
I shrugged, but I saw from her wince that my bullshit movement didn’t hide the pain.
“How is he?” I was still whispering.
“Cap was pushed out when visiting hours were over last night. When he got home, he shared Knox was finally fully awake and asking when he’d be released.”
Of course he was asking that.
“When is he going to be released?” I queried.
“They say a couple of days. They want him up and walking around. They think it’ll be Monday.”
I nodded.
“Understandably, Mace and Stella canceled the New Year’s Eve party,” she announced.
Oh, crap.
I’d forgotten about that. It was supposed to be tomorrow night.
I’d been dreading it (because of Knox).
But now I was upset it couldn’t happen (because of what had gone down with Knox).
“First thing post-surgery, he asked for you,” Raye stated a fact, regaining my attention.
I nodded again.
“I take it that didn’t go well.”
So she wasn’t going to pry stuff out of me that wasn’t hers to have.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to fish.
I felt my lips quirk and said, “He and I have different versions of why we didn’t work.”
“Ah,” she said.
“And even through drugged, half-lucid mumblings, his version is in serious error.”
“I’m sorry, Loon,” she said quietly.
I shrugged again, and it was no less a bullshit movement.
“Is Cheyenne going to be a problem?” she asked.
“My guess from her behavior yesterday and this morning…yes,” I answered.
“Fabulous,” she mumbled.
Indeed.
“You know, the Angels are all fired up to go after his sister’s boyfriend,” she shared.
“We’re gonna have to talk about that because this guy is not your run-of-the-mill lunatic,” I replied.
“Much the same as what Cap said. He came this close,”—she lifted a hand with a finger and thumb about a quarter inch apart—“from forbidding me to allow the Angels to dive in.”
“Whoa.”
“I know.”
“I think there’s criminal underworld stuff, then there’s John Wick-style criminal underworld stuff, and this is the latter,” I noted.
“Mm,” she hummed.
I had mentioned Raye was a badass.
I also mentioned we were all a bit nutso.
But taking this on—unless we had Nightingale-man-esque skills, which we did not—might be suicidal.