Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Cruce is somewhere on the streets, but within close enough distance to put a bullet in Matthew should he make a violent move toward me.
The waitress leads me to the table beside Saint’s. I dare not look at him, though, taking the chair opposite of him as we planned. While I’d have thought they’d want him a bit closer to me, the truth is they want him able and ready to spring on Matthew if necessary.
The waitress offers me a menu. She knows there is some sort of police sting going down—though not the particulars—but she appears relaxed and calm. She even makes a show of asking if I’m dining alone, but I shake my head and say, “I’m meeting a friend.”
She nods. “I’ll check back once he’s been seated.”
Placing my phone on the table beside the menu, I realize the clock says it’s 5:01. I hadn’t expected Matthew to be here first. I’d fully expected him to be suspicious of my motives. I’d bet he’s probably been hanging out down the block, watching while my Uber deposited me in front of the restaurant.
A server appears with a pitcher of water, then fills my glass. After he melts way, I take a nervous sip, thankful for its soothing relief on my throat, which is parched with fear and doubt.
Why had I told Kane to go to the game?
I’m terrified, and I wish he were here.
But no, I’d done the right thing.
Just like he’s doing the right thing.
I have to deal with this myself.
Movement from my right catches my attention, and I slowly turn to see Matthew following behind the same waitress who seated me. Her gaze meets mine before darting nervously over to Saint, then returning to me.
My eyes lock on Matthew. Immediately, I want to look away because seeing him is more horrible than I could have ever imagined. It makes me sick to think I was ever intimate with this man, but no matter how handsome he is, all I can recall is the memory of how crazed he appeared when he’d been on top of me—attacking me—in my van.
He’s casually dressed in cargo shorts and a button-down shirt with long sleeves. He seems thinner than I remember, at least in the face, which looks gaunt. It means he’s probably not been eating well. This seems to bode ill for me, because he’s obviously not taking care of himself. Someone who was in their right mind would be.
The waitress is overly cheery as she points to a chair, handing Matthew a menu after he takes a seat. He spares a glance at Saint, and I wonder if Matthew thinks it’s odd that we’re the only diners out here. It’s one of the ways meant to keep patrons safe, but I’m hoping Matthew thinks it’s simply too early for the dinner rush.
Matthew scrutinizes Saint again before scanning the street that runs parallel to the restaurant. When he once again looks left, then right, it hits me what he’s doing.
“I came alone,” I state, knowing he’s on the lookout for Kane.
“Just making sure,” Matthew replies. When he settles his gaze on me, he twists his lips into a smirk.
Instantly, anger replaces my fear as I realize this fucker believes he has already won the game because I’d done as he’d ordered and come alone.
Except… I’m far from on my own, which he’ll learn very soon.
Before I can open a conversation, a server arrives and pours Matthew a glass of water. He ignores the waiter and the drink.
Once we’re alone again, I ask, “Why are you in Phoenix?”
Matthew leans back in his chair, draping one arm over the back. “I’m here for you, of course.”
A shiver runs up my spine, but I work to keep my expression bland. “We’re only here to talk,” I remind him.
“Of course,” he replies, inclining his head.
God, how does he do it? Sit there so casually, with such a smug expression, while knowing he’d attacked me the last time we’d been this close. The only thing I can think is that maybe he doesn’t have a clue about me going to the police. That he doesn’t know there’s a warrant out for his arrest. If he did, it seems like he’d have taken more precautions and wouldn’t appear to be so comfortable.
As it stands, though, he sits there preening smugly—like the cat that ate the canary—because he believes he has power over me.
“Why did you do it?” I ask softly, tilting my head in an effort to appear humbly curious.
“Why did you cut me out of your life?” he retorts.
When I don’t reply, Matthew shrugs. “I let my anger get the better of me.”
“I don’t buy that,” I reply, going a bit off-script. I’d been told not to be argumentative, but I can’t let him get away with a falsity like that. “You didn’t even try to talk to me. Your sole purpose was to attack me.”