Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
I shove the phone at him, too weary to argue. I’m beaten in ways I didn’t think was possible, and it didn’t even include weapons. All it took was a woman. A beautiful, perfect, deceitful woman.
“Yeah,” the guy says. “A woman will do that to you.”
“Fuck.” Did I say that out loud?
“What’s your name?”
I lean my elbows on the counter and drop my head on my arms. “Leon. Leon Hart.”
“This Hart dude is your family?”
I chuckle. “Don’t know of that many Harts in my caller list.”
“Fuck, bro,” the man says. “I ain’t no foolin with this guy. If he’s family, I’m making damn sure no one lays a hand on you.”
The surroundings turn bleak after that. I tune out, making the unforgivable error of not being in control. It’s an error that can cost a man’s life. The knowledge is as integral to my being as instinct is to an animal, but for once, I welcome the oblivion.
“He’s here,” the barman says. “I held onto his phone.”
I only register the words because someone is shaking me from the peaceful state of nothingness, slipping an arm around my shoulders.
“Thank you,” a familiar voice says. “This should settle the bill. Keep the tip for your trouble.”
The barman whistles. “That’s a lot of dough there, Mr. Hart. It ain’t necessary though.”
My younger brother’s tone is dry. “I insist.”
“Yes, Mr. Hart. Thank you.”
“Ah, fuck.” I open my eyes when someone drags me to my feet. “Damian.”
“Yeah,” he says, throwing my arm over his neck and forcing my feet to move as he walks to the door. “I’m not particularly happy to see you either.”
A cool wind blasts my face. The air smells crisp, like late summer. A man stands at attention next to my car, his jacket not hiding the gun in the holster strapped across his chest.
“Give him your key,” Damian instructs. “He’ll drive your car home.”
Not in a state to decline the offer, I fish the key from my pocket and hand it over. The man unlocks my car and gets inside.
Damian drags me to a car parked two spots away.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I say with spiteful obstinacy.
“Fuck you too, Leon.” He opens the door and dumps me inside. “Just keep your mouth shut unless it’s to tell me you’re going to be sick. If you vomit in my car, I’ll kill you.”
“Damian to the rescue,” I mutter as he slams the door shut and comes around to take the wheel.
He dumps my phone in my lap. “You’re supposed to keep a low profile, not attract attention by getting pissed in a cheap bar on the wrong side of town.”
I utter a laugh. “Of all the people the man could’ve called, it had to be my preaching brother.”
“I checked your caller list.” He starts the engine. “My name is first.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a short list, and seeing that it’s alphabetical…” I let the sentence hang. If he’s clever, he’ll get my drift.
“A simple thank you will do.”
He pulls off, checking around as he takes the quiet road. He’s doing what I should’ve been doing, being vigilant.
“Don’t you need to ask my address?” I taunt.
“You’ve always been an asshole,” he mutters. “Especially when you’re hurt.”
I laugh harder. “Great. Blame my less than sunny disposition on my fragile feelings.”
“It’s true.” He makes the declaration with the certainty of telling me the world is round. “Ian’s always been the most sentimental, but you’ve been the most sensitive. Any dickhead could see it.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
His chuckle is wry. “It wasn’t an insult.”
I scoff. “Zoe’s been the most sensitive. That’s why you always protected her.”
“I protected her because there was no one else to do it.”
Because Ian and I weren’t there. But he doesn’t say it.
“Zoe isn’t as soft as you think,” he continues. “She had her own way of coping.”
“Hiding in her head.”
He doesn’t reply.
Fuck it. I don’t want to talk about the past, especially not when I’m drunk. Unwinding the window, I stick my head out.
The air drops a degree when the clock on the dashboard strikes midnight, the cool breeze somewhat waking me up.
I’m still far from sober when Damian parks in front of my complex and asks for the code to open the gate. Letting my head fall on the backrest of my seat, I don’t give him the number. I want to stall. I want to figure out how to face Violet, how to explain why I’m legless and turned inside-out. I’ve never been good at making excuses or admitting my weakness.
“Fuck,” Damian mutters, pressing the bell on the intercom. “Forget it.” When the guard answers, he says, “Leon Hart’s residence. I’m dropping him off.”
“One moment,” the guard says. “I’ll dial the house.”
Leaning over Damian, I say, “That’s not necessary. I’m in the car—”
“He’s hung up,” Damian says, pushing me off him.