Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
The guy slams his beefy fist on the table. “You don’t get it. You look at her and you see a pretty piece of ass. I see a hustler. I see a criminal. Watch your money, pal. If you have any, she’ll fuck it out of you, too.”
He scrapes the chair across the floor and lurches to his feet, almost knocking the table over.
My heart freezes in my chest. What is he saying? That Bethany has had sex with him? When? Why?
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m chasing him to the exit—and barely keeping my hands off his throat. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. That sweet little thing you keep defending? I got ten minutes of pleasure out of her. And nothing but endless shit in the last six months.”
He’s talking about my Beth like she’s one step above a whore. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“If you have to ask, you might try paying attention to the news, kid.”
I resent this guy on so many levels right now. But he’s a former client. He has a story if he’s here night after night, trying to get some sort of restitution or pound of flesh out of Bethany.
“I’m not a fucking kid. And I’m a lot more familiar with the news than you think. What the hell do you think she can give you at this point?”
Surprise bounces across his face, then he stares back in speculation. “She can return the money that belongs to me.”
I swallow. I have to be careful here. I can’t let on too much in case he says something to Bethany, and he’s hardly an ally. But there are two sides to every story. I can’t ask my dad his side anymore. This fortyish windbag is the only other client of Reed Financial I’ve ever met face to face.
“What if she doesn’t know where it is?”
“She damn well should. I trusted her with my money for five years. Hell, I handed her a check for seven million dollars two days before Barclay Reed was arrested. She promised to personally see to it. You keep thinking she’s innocent if it makes you feel better about fucking her. But I’m telling you, she’s not the sweet thing you think.”
Then he’s gone. And I’m so angry I’m shaking.
Yes, this guy was a victim of the financial scheme, just like my dad. Instead of succumbing to the shock, he chose to fight back. He’s entitled to be angry. Seven million is a lot of money. And I get that he’s looking for someone to blame. I was once, too.
But what he’s doing isn’t cool.
This asshole will be back, I have no doubt. He wants his money, of course. But he’s full of righteous, pent-up rage and seemingly desperate for revenge. I need to protect Bethany because I have a feeling he’s capable of far more destructive things than hurling insults.
Why did she ever let this man touch her? He might not be terrible to look at, but he’s an angry, vile misogynist. The way he talks about her, as if he sees no value in her… She is smart and kind. He thinks I don’t know her? Ha! He’s the one who doesn’t.
That knowledge is my only consolation, because I don’t understand anything else that’s happened in the last ten minutes.
The only other thing I know is that I need to talk to Bethany ASAP.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You’re quiet,” Bethany remarks on our drive back to Maxon and Keeley’s inn.
As I steer through the inky night, away from civilization, I tap my thumb against the steering wheel. The silence during our ride feels sharp. It’s ratcheted up my tension. I don’t want to hurl accusations at her, and I don’t want to argue while I’m driving. But waiting hours to get this off my chest has pushed my mood someplace ugly.
“A lot on my mind,” I say finally.
“You’re wondering about my relationship with Stephen.”
“Among other things, yes.”
He’s not the first problem on my mind. I’m also deeply disturbed by everything her former client spewed. But since she brought Lund up, maybe I’ve cooled down enough to talk about him. The asshole? How do I deal with the knowledge that she had sex with someone who feels nothing but contempt for her? How do I even ask why?
She sighs. “When you walked in and saw Stephen holding my hands, you probably thought we seemed cozy and romantic. But it’s not like that.”
“So you’ve never been to bed with Lund?”
I’m hoping like hell she says no. Instead, a flush steals across her face.
“He’s been a good friend my whole life. His father and mine were cronies and golfing buddies. Sometimes, all of us spent weekends together and had barbecues… He’s comfortable.”
I grip the wheel harder. There’s a whole lot she’s not telling me, including the fact they—at some point—fucked. No, I don’t own her. But I want to understand what’s going on between them now.