Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
But I also knew him enough to know that bringing up the possible depression, and suggesting he might want to talk about it to someone was only going to set him off.
It was why I needed to try to act like I was okay, that every inch of me wasn't sore, that I wasn't worried sick about not only my job security, but also my safety while I was there.
If I thought I was exhausted before the attack, this was a whole new kind of tiredness. I wasn't just body-tired. I was heart-tired. And soul-tired.
But it would pass.
I would heal.
Then everything would feel more manageable.
And Shep would stop looking so sad.
It would all shake out.
"Oh, you guys are heading out?" I asked, wincing at the desperation in my voice as my table of late teens guys and girls moved to stand.
"Our professors kinda frown on us sleeping through all our morning classes," one of the guys said, shooting me a smile as they walked past.
Anxiety made my heartbeat skip into overdrive as the door bell jingled on their way out.
But even as I was debating, you know, abandoning my post to go and hide in the bathroom for a moment, I could hear the rumble of a bike coming down the street.
It wasn't a sound a normal person would associate with relief. I mean, bikers didn't exactly have the best reputation.
But I knew who was on that bike.
And he was probably the kindest soul I'd met since moving to the area. All wrapped up in a big, scary—and stupidly attractive—package.
I'd maybe been developing a school-girl type of crush on the man. Since he'd started showing up, sure, but gaining in momentum since the night he'd sat with me in the hospital.
It was ridiculous for my mind even to go there, of course. Since I had no time for dating even if he somehow did want to go out with me. But I found it increasingly more difficult to stop thoughts of him from creeping into my head during the day, and from invading my dreams at night.
Those dreams, yeah, they had a mind of their own. And they focused a lot on those giant hands of his moving over my skin. And what that beard of his might feel like brushing my breasts, my belly, my inner thighs.
Even just remembering the dreams made me feel suddenly flushed.
I was so distracted by my thoughts that I missed the fact that Malcolm had already pulled in, parked, and was making his way toward the truck.
Suddenly unsure, I made my way toward the door, moving outside, wanting to make sure things didn't get out of hand if I was just overreacting.
The guy in the truck must not have seen Malcolm moving around the truck bed, or approaching his side of the vehicle. Because the whole car jerked as the man jumped when Malcolm reached in the window, grabbing the phone out of his hands, and taking a step back as he looked down at it.
Recovering himself, the man in the car yelled something I was too far away to make out, but he also started to open his door. Which Malcolm slammed back shut with one hand as he kept scrolling with his other.
My stomach coiled as I realized I must have been right after all, that it must have been me in the pictures on the phone because Malcolm suddenly turned the phone, thrusting it out toward the man, saying something to him. I couldn't make it out, but it seemed to be said in some sort of growling voice.
I was vaguely aware of someone else pulling up on a bike, but just climbing off and leaning on it, just watching as Malcolm started to get into some sort of argument with the man.
My heartbeat started to hammer, pounding in my chest, throat, and ears, making it hard to hear past the whooshing of my blood when Malcolm reached in, grabbed the front of the man's shirt, and dragged him out through the window.
I should have stepped in then, but shock kept me pinned in place, unable to move, to open my mouth to say anything, to do anything to stop Malcolm from shoving the man back into the truck.
From then, it was all a blur to me. I couldn't say for certain, but I was pretty sure the other man threw the first blow.
But Malcolm didn't pause in wailing in on the man.
And I mean wailing.
My gaze slipped away, finding the teenagers outside of their car, cell phones up, filming. All except one. The one who was on her phone. Likely calling the police.
It seemed that the moment I noticed, the other biker who had been watching the chaos casually like it was a TV show, noticed the kids too.
He waited until the one hung up her phone before he stalked in their direction.