Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 90276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Deck doesn’t own me. And I’m going out. You can come or not. Either way, I’m drinking Deck out from between my legs.” It was time. I had to get him out of me and stop holding onto something he’d never take—me.
Rylie winced. “Maybe we should cool it for a few days. We’ve been partying hard for weeks. Besides, I’m low on cash. Unless you intend to give me a raise?” She smiled.
I laughed. “Babe, I love you, but you just had one. And now, I’m out of here. Patrick will be in any minute for the evening shift.” Her cheeks flushed and I happy-danced my eyebrows. “And you need to fuck that man. Seriously. He likes you and he’s in the cupcake club, so he’s totally allowed to be shagged in the back of the shop after close. That’s if you don’t mind being on camera.”
Rylie giggled then shoved me away. “I’m not sleeping with him. He’s slept with every hot chick who’s walked in the place.”
“Well, then he must know what he’s doing.”
“I’ll sleep with Patrick the day you sleep with Deck.”
“Oh, I sleep with Deck every single night.”
Rylie laughed and walked toward the front. “Vibrators named Deck don’t count.”
I stuck my tongue out at her before she disappeared from view. She laughed.
Grabbing my purse off the floor near the fire exit, I opened it, took out my cell and dialed his number.
I FUCKED UP. With this shit going down and now leaving without a man on her … I didn’t like it. Not when I had a job in the works, which could affect her. If there was any leak of who we were after, she could become a target. The last time she became a target, Georgie had nearly gotten herself killed by leaping out of the attic on top a guy who had a fuckin’ gun on her best friend, Emily. The sick fuck, Alfonzo, trained girls then sold them into the sex trade. Georgie had been drugged up and taken to a warehouse where the transporter was going to ship her, Emily and this girl, Raven—real name, London—off to God knows where. Jesus, if that had happened … girls rarely ever came back from that shit. They disappeared.
That day had been the second worst day of my life.
I was on edge and rarely did I lose it. Today, I did. I fuckin’ punched Tyler. The rage that tore through me after hearing he fucked her … it blew my mind apart. Control completely obliterated at the thought of Georgie screaming Tyler’s name as he plowed into her. Losing control was not something I let in. I couldn’t. I lost it once and it landed me in Juvie for six months and then on the streets for two years until I hit eighteen and joined the Canadian armed forces.
I walked outside the coffee shop Georgie called Perk Avenue, and the summer air hit my heated skin, doing fuck-all to cool the anger simmering inside me.
Tyler was leaning against the brick wall, a blade of grass in his mouth, one leg cocked with his foot resting on the wall. He pushed away and approached me, spitting the grass onto the sidewalk.
“All good?”
I looked at him and he smirked. Asshole. He knew damn well nothing was ever good with Georgie. And now it was worse. This wasn’t just a young girl partying and drinking anymore. This was Georgie having a drinking problem.
At least she’d never had a boyfriend—thank fuck. I checked out every guy she had dates with, which was as Tyler said, ‘fuckin’ shit-ass crazy’, but I made a promise to her brother and I never broke my word.
Some of the men were pansies or in serious debt or had shit jobs and I wanted to stop her from dating them. But I kept my opinion to myself—most of the time. When I didn’t was when guys like Tristan, who had a different woman every day of the week, wanted to date her.
This was about protecting her against the scum, the assholes and the womanizers. And yes, men like me. Men who had a fuck of a good chance of not coming home.
Of course there were times like now when I didn’t have a man on her and had no clue what she was up to, and Georgie was often up to no good.
I couldn’t figure out what the fuck she was doing lately.
The drinking … fuck, I couldn’t understand it or stop it. It was the one part of Georgie I had no control over. At first, it had been hard partying on the weekends then slowly over the last few months, it became more often until I found the little bottles in her purse.
What was really fucked up was it didn’t fit who she was. I knew she was better than that. She was too stubborn and determined, too fuckin’ sure of herself to be an alcoholic, yet I dragged her ass out of bars too many times to recall.