Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
It took every single ounce of my willpower to grit my teeth against the agonizing pain in my head and face, clawing at the counter to get myself upright. The room spun, my vision blurred, and I felt like I might hurl all over my lovely quartz countertops. But after a few minutes—or maybe more than a few, who knew?—there was no vomit on my countertops, and my vision improved somewhat. Dark spots still danced around the room as I gripped the counter, using it to help me along to the cabinet above the fridge where all of my medicine was housed.
I fumbled with various bottles, cursing myself for being obsessed with health and wellness and swearing off most traditional painkillers.
Again, after a few minutes—that quite possibly could’ve been more—of my head feeling like it had grown three times its normal size while grabbing blindly at bottles, I found a bottle of Advil.
Tears running down my face, my hands shaking, I managed to spill some into my palm and retrieve a bottle of water from my fridge.
Then I spent the rest of the night lying on my sofa, staring at the ceiling, and willing the throbbing in my eye to go away.
On the plus side, I did not think about what an ass I’d made of myself with Rowan.
Every cloud, and all that.
Chapter
Four
Recipe: Peanut Butter Cake with Double Chocolate Frosting (the Crisis Cake)
“I’m going to fucking kill him!” Fiona screamed when she walked through the door of the bakery.
I winced at the tenor of her tone which seemed to exacerbate the throbbing behind my eyes. That and the sunlight streaming through the windows. Usually, I adored the way the bakery was bathed in the morning sun… I’d lean against the counter, sipping my coffee, watching the way the light hit the magical space I’d created.
None of that today.
“It’s easy to buy a gun, right?” she scowled, dumping her purse on the counter, eyes zeroed in on the left side of my face. “A fact that we really hated and have been rallying against for the longest time, but something I am currently thankful for.”
“You don’t need to buy a gun,” I told her quickly, horrified.
“Right, we’ve got plenty of knives in the back,” she nodded once, heading in that direction. I snatched her arm before she could run into the kitchen and arm herself with a knife to do who knew what.
“Fiona,” I groaned. “Who are you planning on killing?”
She stopped, luckily, since I didn’t like my chances if she decided to fight me on it.
Her glower deepened as she focused on my face. “Nathan,” she spat out the name like it tasted bitter. “He’s the one who did this, isn’t he? That fucking cunt!”
Fiona, being Australian, used the ‘C’ word daily, which, apparently, was the norm for those hailing from the Southern Hemisphere. She’d also educated me on the use of it. A ‘soft T’ was meant to be some kind of compliment, like “he’s a good cunt,” and the ‘hard T’ was meant as an insult, like “he’s a fucking cunt.”
This was certainly a ‘hard T’ moment.
“Nathan didn’t do this, if he’s the cunt you’re referring to,” I informed her.
Her brow lifted. “Rigggght, like there is some other man who is small enough and disgusting enough to use violence against a woman who dumped him instead of taking it like a man,” she ranted. “Or I should say, taking it like a woman since men never take rejection or any kind of setback well. Women are the ones who properly deal with shit. Continue on.”
“Nathan didn’t do this,” I repeated.
Her glower did not waver in the slightest. “You mean to tell me that Nathan was not in your presence when that happened?” She motioned to what was a pretty impressive black eye.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I could not tell her that.
Fiona took my pause as some kind of confirmation that Nathan was the one who’d hurt me.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” she seethed.
I gripped her harder to ensure she did not go in search of weapons again. I’d never seen Fiona truly mad before. It was scary and touching. She would go to battle for me, in an instant. As I would for her, of course. But she’d be a lot more successful.
“Fiona,” I said gently. “Nathan was in my presence when this happened, but he didn’t do it… technically.”
Fiona narrowed her eyes. “You better explain quick, or I’m going to get some knives."
So, I did. Explain. Which didn’t really do much to quell Fiona’s fury. In the end, she was still set on killing Nathan. As was Tina, who didn’t help at all because she actually owned a firearm, but luckily, she had a somewhat cooler head about it.
Tina’s solution had been contacting an outlaw motorcycle club she was in touch with and letting them deal with Nathan.