Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Oliver wasn’t getting anywhere near the two people he loved most.
“Let’s think fast,” he instructed his family. “I’m sick of this fucker. Time to get rid of him for good.”
The hollers of approval and support had him grinning despite the serious topic. Caleb giggled and slapped his hands on his tray, making everyone laugh. Brenna leaned her head on his shoulder, still holding his hand.
For the first time since his twin sister died, Lock understood and felt what he’d been told a thousand times deep in his soul. He wasn’t alone, and he didn’t have to go through life on his own. He had a loyal family to prop him up when his strength failed, as he’d do for them.
And now he had the perfect woman at his side.
CHAPTER TWENTTY
BRENNA CHEWED HER thumbnail as she stared at the massive building from the back corner of the parking lot.
Lock was going to kill her. Hands down, no questions about it, she’d be a dead woman when he found out she’d gone behind everyone’s back to confront Oliver. But she had to. If there was even the slightest chance she could get him to drop the lawsuit without the club putting themselves at risk, she needed to take that chance.
Since the court papers arrived and she’d seen Lock’s severe reaction, guilt had been a constant companion, sitting on her shoulders and wreaking havoc on her psyche. If she hadn’t antagonized Oliver a few weeks ago, maybe he wouldn’t have responded with such a devastating blow.
Which was how she found herself sitting outside a swanky, members-only club. One her ex-fiancé never took her to, but where he attended a hush-hush monthly high-stakes poker night with the who’s who of Tampa. Now that she knew he had a mountain of gambling debt, she assumed this venture was the source of the financial woes that drove him to borrow money from the Handlers. He’d always led her to believe he kicked ass and made bank at poker night.
What a liar.
A few months ago, she’d heard Oliver whispering to someone on the phone. At first, she’d assumed he was cheating on her—again—which drove her to press her ear to the closed bathroom door and spy on the conversation. Turns out he’d been discussing the stupid poker game. At the time, she’d rolled her eyes and left him to his conversation, but she’d found out where the games took place.
Stray was a high-end nightclub on the outskirts of Tampa. If the busy parking lot was any indication, the place drew quite a crowd. They probably served a packed house of snooty Oliver-types every night. She rolled her eyes. Not her vibe. Thank God Oliver hadn’t thought her classy enough to join him here.
The club didn’t appeal to her in the least. A loud laugh bubbled out of her. Could this place be any more different than the Handlers’ clubhouse?
She planned to wait until Oliver left and confront him. It was not the smartest idea she’d ever had, but not the worst either, though she had a feeling Lock—who was busy with club duties tonight—would disagree. Hopefully, he’d be comforted that she carried pepper spray in her pocket and had no qualms about using it.
She sighed, glancing at the clock for the third time since she’d parked. The minutes passed with painful slowness. The anticipation of a miserable conversation only made the time drag on.
After three hours of sitting on her ass and singing random songs to stay awake, Brenna decided she’d had enough. Maybe the poker game had been canceled, or Oliver hadn’t attended. It was a few minutes past midnight, and typically, Oliver had returned from his game around eleven.
A rush of disappointment and failure plagued her as she put her car in drive. No point in wasting any more time tonight. Just as she took her foot off the brake, a side door opened, and a man walked out.
He stood too far away to make out all his features, but the uptick in her pulse told her the newcomer was Oliver.
Finally.
Brenna shoved the car back into park and threw open the door. She jogged across the parking lot toward Oliver. If she could catch him while he was still on the side of the building, they’d make less of a scene for anyone entering or leaving the club.
Music from the club thumped along with the pumping of blood in her veins. It only took a few seconds to sprint over to Oliver, who focused on the ground as he walked.
“Hey!” she called as she slowed her approach.
Oliver’s head whipped up, and his eyes widened at the sight of her. He glanced left, right, then over his shoulder.
“We need to talk,” she said as she marched the rest of the way to him. “Hey, what the hell are you doing?”