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)
Lori was one of my favorites.
She was sweet. Tiny. Petite like a fairy. Pretty like one too. Her white-blonde hair was stick straight, glossy and framed her delicate features perfectly. She was getting her PhD. She was smart, kind and bound for great things.
Ronnie was a drunk. Well known to be one. He worked at the town’s one and only dive bar. He and Lori were high school sweethearts. I supposed that was why she stayed with him. For the nostalgia of it. For what they used to be. I liked to imagine at some point he used to treat her well. Before he was injured and lost his football scholarship. But whether or not he used to treat her well didn’t matter much now.
Not when he had been screaming at her in the parking lot. Pushing her around while she cowered, shrank in on herself with no one to fight for her.
Which was why I slammed on my brakes, pulled into the parking lot, ran out of my car and stood between them, facing off with a man who was much bigger than me and quite obviously violent.
“Leave her alone,” I shouted at him, trying my best to get in his face. I might’ve been taller than Lori, but I wasn’t even close to the same height or size as Ronnie.
He might’ve lost the scholarship and gained quite a bit of weight, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still big and much stronger than me.
“This is none of your business, bitch.” He scowled down at me. “Fuck off.”
His stare was unfocused. Bloodshot. His breath reeked of whisky, and he was swaying on his feet.
He was drunk. Which was likely why he was laying hands on Lori. Or that’s what I wanted to believe. I glanced around the parking lot, which was unfortunately quiet at this time of day. It was long after school got out and a little before most people got out of work.
I was on my own. For now, at least.
“You laying your hands on a woman you’re supposed to love and cherish is my business,” I spat at him.
Lori sniffled, tears streaming down her face. “Ronnie, please—”
She tried to touch his shoulder but he shrugged her off, still glaring at me.
“Get the fuck outta here before I teach you a lesson,” he growled, leaning forward in an effort to scare me.
I was scared. No doubt about that. I had no weapon, no self-defense skills, and no one else in the vicinity to back me up.
Although he was in his seventies and needed a cane to walk, Henry, the owner of the store, would be out here if he saw what was going on. Henry wouldn’t hesitate. So, I had to assume he was out back or engrossed in one of the many steamy paperbacks he loved to read without shame.
“Ronnie,” Lori pleaded from behind me. “Please don’t do this. Don’t talk to Nora like that.” Her voice was thick with tears. Smaller and weaker than I’d ever heard it. This was a girl who was beaten down, who had been manipulated by this asshole.
My heart broke with the instinctive knowledge that this was not the first time Ronnie got like this.
“I know you, Ronnie Cockran,” I said, refusing to back down or let him think I was scared. “I know you’re a drunk. And a coward. Instead of taking what life gave you and turning it into something different, better, you let yourself be the victim. And it’s clear you’re in denial about that because you’re trying to make her a victim now.” I jabbed my finger in Lori’s direction, not risking a glance at her because I couldn’t be sure what Ronnie would do if I took my eyes off him. “I see you. You’re small and weak.” I let the words fly like weapons, rage simmering inside of me. “And if I make a call to Finn, he’s gonna come down here, and you’re not gonna be brazen enough to get in his face. That, I’ll bet my life savings on. Because he’s got a gun, a badge, and a fuck of a lot more honor than you.”
Insulting and threatening Ronnie at this juncture probably wasn’t smart. He was not sober enough to see reason or think about the consequences of what would happen if he made good on his threats.
But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t restrain the anger, the fury that I had toward him and men like him. My blood was boiling.
As was Ronnie’s it seemed by the way his nostrils flared. “You fuckin’ bitch,” he snarled, lifting his hand, to do what, I didn’t know.
Luckily, I didn’t find out since the squeal of tires against pavement made both of our heads turn, Ronnie’s hand hovering in the air.
A familiar truck screeched into the parking lot, a familiar man bursting out of it.