Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
And I need to be with security.
I start texting him back: I’d say you’re missing a comma. Before I hit send, Akara plucks my phone right out of my hand. He wafts smoke out of his face, the bar clouding.
“When’d you get here?” I ask, noticing a beer bottle in his grip. I’m not sure how he managed to push through the hecklers at the bar without causing a fistfight.
Donnelly saunters towards Oscar, beer also in hand. Through the cigarette smoke, I make out his septum piercing, a new thing, and he cut holes in his Studio 9 shirt.
“Five minutes ago,” Akara answers me, his sweaty muscle shirt suctioned to his chest.
I pop my gum. “You smell like a five hour workout.”
Akara rubs my phone on his sweat stains, making a point. “We all agreed not to stalk the stalker tonight. You know Maximoff is safe with his family.”
“I realize that.” I don’t need the reassurance. I’m confident whoever the fuck is behind the sick photos won’t reach Maximoff at his parent’s house. It’s decked out in security alarms and cams.
I extend my hand for the phone.
Akara rubs it on his chest again. “You really want this thing back?”
“Man sweat really doesn’t bother me.” I motion to him. “Give me.”
He slips my cell into his back pocket.
I roll my eyes. “Akara—”
“You can get it back later tonight.” He squeezes my shoulder. “No client, no boyfriend. Just relax.”
I chew my gum slowly. “I’m the definition of relaxed.”
Akara swigs his beer. “You’ve been the definition of hyper-vigilant. I’ll let you know when you’re back to Farrow ‘chilling in hurricanes’ Keene.”
I’m not dwelling on that. Mostly because a brawny fucker yells, “Go eat shit, posers!!”
Donnelly leans on the pool table. “Haters gonna hate.”
“Get outta Philly!” a collective jeer comes at us.
Donnelly suddenly straightens up and outstretches his arms. “I’m from Philly! You get outta here, man!”
Oscar pulls Donnelly back by the shirt before he storms the bar, and then he steals Donnelly’s beer.
“Hey,” Akara says, “let it go. We don’t need to make another headline. Security Force Omega Gets in a Bar Fight reflects badly on our employers.”
Donnelly glowers at the bearded, tattooed guy who’s been staring me down. “What about Security Force Omega Wins a Bar Fight, boss?”
“No,” Akara says.
The hecklers shout some more bullshit, and we do a good job of ignoring. But a female bartender leaves the counter and nears us.
She ties her hair into a bun. “Hi, guys. Look, I can take your drink orders and serve you, but you shouldn’t approach the bar. It’s not safe, and the manager thinks this is a better deal for everyone, yeah?”
The bearded dipshit looks too pleased with himself. He thinks we’re about to be kicked out, not given special treatment.
Amusement pulls my lips upward. I’m enjoying this.
“Sounds good,” Akara says. “You guys want anything?”
“I’m buyin’ a round of whiskey shots for everyone,” Donnelly says, gesturing to all of us.
“Got it,” the bartender says and departs.
I chalk my cue stick. “Who’d you tattoo?” I ask him since that’s how he earns extra cash, and it’s the only time he buys everyone drinks.
“Luna.” Donnelly picks a cigarette out of a pack. “Thought about consulting with her dad first since he went ape-shit on me about the others, but then I thought, nah. He won’t ever see this one.”
My brows spike. “Man, if you tattooed her ass and her dad finds out, he’ll—”
“Don’t freak. It was a shooting star below her hipbone.” He cups his hand over a flame and lights his cigarette. “And she’s eighteen. If it’s not me inking her, then another tattooist will, you know?”
I know.
But that’s still Loren Hale’s daughter and Maximoff’s little sister. That’s still the Hale family, and fuck, I’m not typically incessant on inserting myself in other people’s shit, but I understand that family better than him. And I care about Luna.
Akara motions his beer bottle at Donnelly. “If she asked you to push her off a cliff, what would you do?”
“I’d say let’s grab some parachutes first, babe.” He smirks. “Then I’d clasp her hand and we’d go down…” He jumps forward and then slings an arm around Oscar.
“You playing?” Oscar asks him about pool.
“Later.”
Akara shakes his head, his lips lifting. He does friendly disapproval well.
My smile widens at Donnelly. “Look who’s never being put on Luna Hale’s detail.”
He blows cigarette rings at me.
“Hey, guys.” Quinn approaches, his plain shirt torn at the hem, nail scratches on his neck.
Most everyone stiffens, but I’m still leaning on the cue stick.
“What the fuck happened?” Oscar instantly nears.
Quinn pushes his brother away. “You know how the crowds are.” The ones in the street, outside The Independent.
“Nah, they aren’t that bad,” Donnelly says.
Akara frowns and assesses Quinn from afar, who tries to convince everyone with I’m fine, I’m fine, but it’s clear that the fame has been harder on him than us.