Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“Come on now, Mischief. You need ice.”
“I know where it is.”
“I’m quite fucking certain you do, but I’m going to get it. Sit down.”
He plants me down onto a chair, and then disappears. He comes back a minute later with an ice pack, and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
He studies me, his face flashing with anger. "That motherfucker, I hope they find him. He hurt you anywhere else?"
I shake my head. "He did choke me until I passed out. That's it."
Travis’ jaw clenches so hard I hear the click of bone. "What?"
"Is that bad?"
"Not fuckin' good," he mutters. "I'm taking you to the hospital. Now."
Twenty minutes later, we're sitting in hard plastic chairs under fluorescent lights. The triage nurse has already checked my vitals, but the ER is packed with weekend casualties. Travis hasn't stopped glaring at the wall since we arrived.
“You don’t have to wait,” I say, trying to break the silence.
I’m also trying to avoid looking at two women in the corner, taking photos of him. If I say something, I might just lose it and it won’t end well.
“I’m not leavin’ you here alone, Violet.”
It’s strange when he calls me that.
“I have spent plenty of time alone in the last few years, I’m good.”
He doesn’t answer, but his jaw tightens and I know my words have cut in deep.
"Why are you really back, Travis?" I finally ask, my voice barely audible over the hospital noise. "I thought you left this life behind, wasn’t that the point of just leaving and not telling anyone."
He hesitates, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. "Yeah, well, turns out the fuckin’ life I was livin’ wasn’t good for me.”
"But this is? Being with Chief? What, are you going to patch into the club? Is that really what you want?”
"Chief looked out for me when nobody else did," he says. "This is my home."
“What about your career, you’re not just a small name, Travis. You’re pretty big news.”
“Yeah, well, what fuckin’ good has that done.”
I can’t help but wonder what happened while he was away.
“So that’s it then? You are just going to give up on your career?”
He shrugs. “I have plans for my future, when you’re better, I’ll tell you all about them. This is the only thing I am thinking about, now...”
I open my mouth to answer but my phone vibrates in my pocket. I glance at the screen. "It's my mom. I should take it. I have no doubt Chief has already called her."
“He didn’t,” Travis says, standing. “I did.”
Our gazes lock, and for a moment, I forget what I’m doing.
I close my eyes and press the phone to my ear. "Hi, Mom... I'm okay, really..."
“YOU LOOK RAVISHING, Vi,” Reagan breathes, her tone warm but charged with something deeper—envy, pride, protectiveness.
I love her for the lengths she would go to for me, not just to protect me but to show me just how much I matter to her.
I twirl in front of the mirror, forcing a laugh. “Hillbilly in couture, more like.”
She folds her arms, dark brows lifting. “A hillbilly? Violet, you’re the best-looking girl I’ve ever seen, even when you’re not trying.”
I stare at my reflection: pale freckled skin, ash-brown hair pulled into an elegant up-do, silver-grey eyes I’ve always thought too dull. “Freckles, pale skin, brown hair—total backwoods cliché.”
“God, Vi,” she giggles, rolling her eyes. “Men stop mid-conversation just to watch you.” She steps closer, fingertips brushing a stray hair from my cheek. “You have porcelain skin, these doe eyes that draw them in, freckles that make you...irresistible. I’m jealous.”
I snort and then eye her—sleek, confident, in a scarlet dress that hugs every curve. “Now you’re just flattering me because you, girl, are a supermodel.”
Her lips twitch into a genuine grin before she bursts out laughing. The sound is intoxicating and, for a moment, I relax. But maturity demands composure. Reagan squeezes my hand. “Tonight, we’re smooth and sexy. No giggling schoolgirls. We’re all mature and shit.”
I nod, smoothing the fabric of my black midi-dress. “Smooth as.”
“Ready?” she asks, eyes excited.
I lift my chin. “Let’s go!”
We’re going to one of Trav’s shows. It has been a week since the hospital visit, and now I’m back with Chief again, for a bit longer this time, I have some time off. In that week, Travis has obviously been pushed by his management team to keep working, and so he has agreed to a local show.
Everyone has gone wild.
I’m terrified and excited. I’ve never seen him up close, doing what he once loved so much.
A yellow cab rattles through neon-lit streets, Reagan’s excited chatter filling the space between us. Outside the biggest venue in the city they could find, a hurricane of screams, flashing lights, and Travis Phoenix posters plaster every surface. His face is everywhere—sweaty, half-naked, muscular. My pulse quickens.