Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
King raised his eyebrows as he stared at me as if I had grown another head. “This is about him fucking someone else?”
I nodded putting the cigarette back between my lips and inhaled the smoke that was gonna be what eventually killed me, wishing he’d shut the fuck up.
“You can’t kill him for that,” King said, sounding like he was ready to have me committed.
“Didn’t really plan on it. I debated it, sure, but he needed to be taught a lesson.”
King’s brows drew together. “What lesson was that exactly?”
I took the cigarette from my mouth and put it out on JB’s arm. His body jerked, and he moaned, then lifted his head.
“There. See, he’s awake,” I said, giving my brother a sadistic grin before turning back to the bastard still groaning. “He needed to learn not to make Capri think he’s something he is not.”
JB’s head did something weird that I thought was meant to be a nod.
I cut my eyes back over to King. “I think he got the message.”
Wells let out a short laugh. “Ya think?”
My eyes shot to him, and Sebastian shoved his arm.
“Shut up,” he hissed at Wells, who looked nervous.
His eyes swung to King, as if he thought King could save him if I really wanted to do anything to him. How the fuck he and Wilder were related, I didn’t know. Wilder I’d take a bullet for.
“Can we let him down and take him home?” King asked me.
I shrugged. “I’m not taking him anywhere.”
King let out a weary-sounding sigh. “Can I take him home?”
I stuck a new cigarette back between my teeth. “Do what the fuck you want,” I told him, then headed for the door.
Wells stepped out of the way quickly.
“If this is how you’re gonna react, we need to let Capri go,” King called out behind me.
I stopped my teeth from sinking into the butt of the cigarette.
“Guys will flirt with her. You can’t teach them all a lesson. We won’t have any stablehands left,” Sebastian added.
I took a deep breath and tried to remember these men were family. The demon inside me didn’t seem to give a fuck about that though. It was me who had to overpower the simmer threatening to take control.
“She stays,” I bit out.
No one said anything. The silence was only making things worse.
I spun around and slammed my hand against the wall. “SHE STAYS!” I roared, not recognizing my own voice.
King nodded. “Okay. She stays. I’m going to make sure every male who steps on the property is aware she is off-limits though.”
Probably a wise idea. I didn’t say anything more. I had to leave before I did something I shouldn’t. I might not take it out on them, but the stablehand would die. King was really intent on that not happening. Leaving was best.
• Four •
“How has Thatcher been treating you?”
Capri
Had I done something wrong? I racked my brain to try and figure out what I could have said or done last week to make everyone seem as if they couldn’t get away from me quick enough.
Monday, I had thought it was just me being touchy over the fact that JB never called or texted over the weekend. But by Thursday, I realized it had only gotten weirder. I would apologize if I knew what I needed to apologize for.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I watched Jim, one of the stablehands who oversaw Bloodline’s daily routine, walk away with the horse, and I replayed our brief interaction. Jim had always been friendly. He had been married for ten years, and he had two daughters and one son. The boy was his youngest and only two years old. Normally, I’d ask about the kids, and he’d tell me something funny that one of them had done.
But he had given me a tight smile when I asked him today, replied, “Great,” then gotten away from me as quickly as possible.
Miller, the head trainer, had even been more standoffish with me. He’d spoken to me very little and talked to Christopher, the stable’s best exercise rider, more than me about Bloodline. I was the one who would be riding him next week, not Christopher.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I turned my attention toward the corral, where Thatcher had Zephyr. I wanted on that horse so bad. He was beautiful. I’d watched his sire race in the Derby the year he won. It had been on television, of course. I’d never gotten to actually go to the Kentucky Derby. I probably could have gotten tickets, but I wanted to go as a jockey. Sitting in the stands and watching wasn’t my dream. It was being down there on the track.
My focus shifted from the horse to the man on it. I had seen him every day I’d been here this week. Each time, I tried to work up the nerve to speak to him, but I never managed it. The cookies that had been left at my door on Friday night were still a mystery. The thought that he could have left them seemed ridiculous now. As did the idea that there had been someone in my backyard. My imagination had gotten the best of me.