Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I may not have the sunny personality of Cooper or Mitchell or the caring nature of Logan, but I am a good man. A loyal man. A man who wants to give a woman everything she needs to be happy. Most of all, I'm a man who could keep Dawn safe.
The desire to protect her is overwhelming, not because she's incapable of looking after herself. I don't think I've ever met a more confident woman in my life. There's just something in me that senses vulnerability. She may be trying to hide it, but I have a sixth sense for it.
"Here," I say, pushing the tray of drinks to the edge of the counter. "That's everything."
"Okay, thanks," she says, balancing it in her hands without any issues, despite the weight.
As she makes her way across the bar, one of our regulars orders two bottles of beer. And then while I'm flipping the tops off, a man in a suit, who is sitting at the side of the bar, beckons me over.
"I'll be with you in a minute," I say, already feeling annoyed at the way he's acting. Just the haughty way he's holding his head, nose slightly elevated, is enough to raise my hackles. He must be close to fifty-five and we don't usually get customers that old. Thomas plays easygoing music, but it’s late in the evening and Cooper's thumping beats are enough to put off the older clientele from stepping over the threshold. I take payment for the beers, then slowly make my way to him.
The man, balding with dark hair at the sides, ruddy-cheeked and one of those bulbous noses that speaks of too many boozy lunches, slides a card over the bar in my direction. His stubby finger remains on it, though. "I'm going to buy your bar," he says, then lifts his hand from the card and stands.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm going to buy your bar. Take a day to think of a reasonable figure and call me on the number on that card."
I draw my head back, frowning at the sheer audacity of this idiot. I press a finger to the card and slide it back to him. "I won't be doing that, so don't hold your breath."
"We can do this the easy or the hard way," he says with a strange smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. "I'd prefer it, and you'll prefer it, if we go for easy."
The rage that bubbles inside me needs an outlet. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"
He narrows his eyes, adjusting his shirtsleeves in his suit jacket, another slow insincere smile spreading across his sneering face. "Be careful, Lachlan."
The shock of hearing my name dropped so easily from his mouth must show. He’s a stranger, but he knows who I am. Who the fuck is he?
His smile grows. "You think I don't research who I'm intending to do business with? Now that would just be sloppy, wouldn't it?"
"I think you should leave." I cross my arms over my chest, knowing that it makes my biceps bulge, and my shoulders seem impossibly wide. This asshole needs to get a sense of who he's dealing with.
"Oh, I'm going. But tomorrow, you will call me with that figure. And because of your bad attitude, knock ten percent off whatever you were thinking of proposing. For every additional day, knock off another ten percent."
"Just get out of here," I shout, drawing the attention of Dawn, Jared, and Thomas. My friends start to make their way across the bar, sensing that something is amiss.
"This place is a dump," the man says. "But it's a dump on land that I want."
"You can want it all you like, but you're not getting it," I say with a firmness that sounds like a growl.
"Oh, I will. Everyone sells in the end, one way or another." He laughs, then. An ominous laugh like some deranged villain from a Bond movie and then takes a step back before turning on his overpriced black leather shoes and walking out.
Out of nowhere, a bubble of rage wells inside me, frustration, a volcano of sheer fury that an asshole like that would try to make me feel so small.
I take three steps back, needing space, needing air, needing to punch something until my knuckles scream and the rage inside me pours out of my fist.
My vision is red, my heart thundering in my ears, and I growl, unleashing a punch to the wall that I don't feel for a few seconds. Then all there is is blistering pain.
"Lachlan," Dawn says, her voice muffled by the rush of blood through my body. "Lachlan. Fuck."
"Lachlan," Thomas shouts, leaping over the bar, his concern twisting his features. When his hand grips my shoulder, I cup my damaged fist in my other palm, and hang my head.