Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Where are you supposed to be?” He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans, scowling at Jersey’s black, Ian Cooper Crew tee that Dani told her to wear. “It’s like you’ve forgotten.” Chris tore his gaze away from her shirt and made eye contact with her.
“I haven’t forgotten anything.”
“Killers … they come in many different forms. It’s not just poor people who take lives. Rich people do it too … only they are more likely to get away with it. Nobody wanted to believe the handsome Ted Bundy could be a serial killer … but he was.”
“Who’s Ted Bundy?”
Chris grumbled, shaking his head.
“Did you just call me stupid?” Jersey puffed out her chest and made a fist with her right hand while stepping closer to him.
His face twisted as he sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fifteen. You were fifteen when you ran away. Weren’t you in school before that? Didn’t you learn how to read? You seem to enjoy it when I read to you. Well, it wouldn’t kill you to pick up a book, a magazine, a newspaper … really anything to sound a little smarter.”
“Fuck you!” She shoved him and he stumbled back a few steps as she charged him, cocking her arm back with a rock-hard fist ready to reacquaint itself with his face.
“Jersey!” Max rushed between them, holding up her hands to stop Jersey while turning her head to the side like her face was the new target.
“So fucking gullible …” Chris shook his head and disappeared around the corner.
Jersey relaxed her grip, letting her arm fall to her side.
“I’m confused.” Max let out a nervous laugh. “He’s not your boyfriend or your husband … at least I’m assuming since his last name is Ten and yours is Six.” She raised a knowing eyebrow that Jersey ignored. “But Ian made it clear that the two of you are a package deal. Yet … you don’t seem to like each other. I can’t have you throwing punches every day. This crew is a family. Disputes are settled quickly and quietly. Understood?”
As the band started to play part of a song, Jersey turned back toward the stage. “What do you know about Ian’s past?”
“Just what he tells everyone else.”
“And what’s that?” Jersey asked, raising her voice so Max could hear her over the music.
“It’s none of our business.”
Jersey’s head whipped toward Max. “You know nothing about his past?” Reality hit hard. For the first time, she opened the door to her mind, letting in the tiny possibility that there could be truth to Chris’s claims.
“He’s private and protective of his family … or his past. I’m not sure which one. But I get it. I’m not exactly an open book either. Inevitably, one day someone will be successful at digging up something from his past and smearing it all over the tabloids. For as long as I’ve known him, Ian Cooper has been nothing more than a rock star in the moment, like he appeared out of nowhere and just landed on the stage, holding a guitar. And I’ve been with him longer than anyone except his manager who saw him perform at a bar in New York and picked him up—no questions asked.”
Jersey swallowed hard. Just the possibility made it difficult to breathe as a prickle of rage stirred to life, stomping all the stupid butterflies in her stomach.
“How did you get hired?”
Max curled her hair behind her ear, a nervous, somewhat sad smile finding its way to her lips. “I was a nanny for Ames’s kids. Ames is his manager. The kids got shipped off to boarding school. Ames signed Mr. Control Freak Cooper and decided the person best suited to keep a neurotic rock star in line was the same person who basically raised his three little hellions. And most of the time, I’m certain I do the bulk of Ames’s job.”
Max sighed. “Neurotic was the term Ames used. Ian’s not really neurotic. He’s disciplined. There’s a huge difference between the two. I’ve known him for years. I love him to death. No one works harder than Ian. No one has a bigger heart.”
“No wife? No kids?”
“No—” She held up her hand and dug her phone out of her pocket with her other hand, bringing it to her ear. “I’m coming … I’m coming …” Without another word, Max scurried off toward the side of the stage as the band stopped playing.
“Jersey Six.”
Her heart skipped the next five beats as her name echoed over the speakers, sending an instant rush of red-hot embarrassment crawling up her neck.
Ian extended his arm, maybe crooking a finger or giving her the middle finger. She couldn’t see that well.
“Jersey Six, champion of the pull-up bar, please come to center stage.”
Most of the people around him kept working, but a few lifted their gazes to the embarrassed young woman dragging her feet toward the stage. Again, she found herself stereotyping a murderer. Was Chris right? Did killers come in all shapes and sizes, from all walks of life? Did she live with occasional regret for killing a sexual predator, while Ian Cooper mowed down two innocent people on a road without a single ounce of regret or accountability?