Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
She unlocks her car and tosses the bouquet unceremoniously onto her passenger seat before sliding in behind the wheel.
I nudge her door shut as she cranks the engine and proceeds to whip out of her parking spot like a bat out of hell—fitting since I’m damn near certain that’s where she came from.
I work through some stretches, trying to simultaneously cool down the torrent of thoughts rushing through me and warm my muscles back up.
But something doesn’t feel right. Time damn near crawls to a stop as a feeling of cold dread settles over me.
“Where the fuck are you?” I hiss, as every hair on my body stands on end. “And why the fuck are you watching me?” I glance around, scanning the immediate area for a threat, but there’s nothing.
After a few more minutes, when no one pops out and yells gotcha, I force myself to resume my run, more than ready to put this whole clusterfuck behind me.
Usually running empties my mind, but now, every step launches a new question—all of them involving the last person I want to worry about.
I’m finally back in the zone when I slam into a wall.
“You again,” said wall, which is actually a man, rumbles as papers scatter to the ground between us.
I glance up, surprised to see the behemoth from The Creek last night. “Silas, right?”
He squats to gather the papers. “In the flesh.”
“Shit, let me help you.” I kneel and grab a page, skimming over it. It’s a help wanted flyer for a security agency. “What’s this about?”
“New business. Security. Looking to hire.”
“What kind of security?”
“The private kind.” He crosses his arms and stares me down as I grab the last few sheets.
“Helpful, man.” I hand him the papers.
“Why all the questions? You interested?”
“I might be. Wanna tell me a little more about it?”
“Step inside, and we can talk.” He pivots, heading into the old hardware store that’s sat empty for years.
I clock the business name on the door as we enter—Guardians of Fortune.
“We do private security—events, protection detail, and more.”
My lips lift into a grin. This gig sounds right up my alley. Maybe things are looking up, after all.
FIVE
SCARLET
“You’re sure about this, right?” I squeak the words out around the ball of apprehension lodged in my throat.
Getting our nails done today was her idea, but I can’t help but worry we’re returning to scene of the crime—well, the scene before it, anyway—too quickly. I even suggested trying a new salon, but she insisted we come here… something about facing her fears head on.
“Yes, Scarlet,” Nora says, her tone the perfect blend of exasperated and understanding. “I’m sure.”
“Okay.” I drum my nails against my thighs. “Okay. Great. If you’re, like, super sure…”
“Scarlet, babe.” Nora reaches across the center console and places her hand over mine. “You have to stop. I refuse to let…” She stops and sucks in a deep breath before slowly blowing it out. “…Rand’s actions control me. Despite all of the horrible things he did to me, I have a beautiful life, a perfect son, and in a few months, I’ll be walking down the aisle to the man of my dreams. So, if I can move forward, you can, too.”
I run a hand through my hair and slump back against my seat. “I know you’re right. Truly, I do. But it’s hard to feel the same way when—” I cut myself off before I can remind her that her husband-to-be and his best friend both hold me responsible for what happened to her. “Okay, no, you’re right.” I shut off my car, and we exit simultaneously, heading straight for the salon. “First up, mani-pedis. Then lunch. And after that—”
“After that I was thinking we could look for shoes.” Nora has this adorably hopeful look on her face, as if I’d ever turn down shopping. “I need something pretty but also practical so I don’t trip down the aisle.”
“Consider it done.”
She smiles gratefully as she pulls the door open, holding it for me.
“So,” I turn to Nora once we’re settled into our pedicure chairs. “What sounds good for lunch?”
“Not barbecue,” she mutters, causing me to gasp.
“Oh. My. God. You did not just say that.” It’s been more than a year but every time I think about getting The Smoke Shack, memories of returning to my car to find Nora’s door ajar and her nowhere in sight, I want to puke. “Have you been back?”
“Nope. Probably never will, if I’m being honest.”
I want to reach out and grab her hand, to offer her comfort like she did me, but I know she doesn’t like being touched unexpectedly, so I stifle the urge. “Me neither.”
She hums contemplatively, letting the subject drop as she reclines back into her seat. “Any ideas?”
Truth be told, I couldn’t care less what we eat. She could tell me she’s on a raw kale diet, and I’d slap on a bib and say yum, sounds great.