Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“I still hate you, you know,” she says.
I lean down and kiss her, and my cock is ready all over again.
“Then hate me like you mean it, bad girl.”
“You can’t possibly want me again,” she murmurs.
“Try telling him that.” I wrap her hand around my cock.
She gives me what I want.
She gives it to me all night long.
When I wake up, Scarlett is gone from my bed.
And in her place is a note.
Hasta la vista, Baby.
A glance at the clock confirms it’s late. After midnight. And there’s only one thing Scarlett could be doing.
I chuck on some jeans and a tee shirt, not bothering with a shower, and start making the rounds to her usual haunts.
I hit up three different bars before I find her.
The devil in the red dress. All legs and sex. She’s the most beautiful woman in the room, and she isn’t alone.
She’s trick rolling, again.
That’s my first conclusion.
My second is that I’m about to end it real quick.
But another glimpse at the guy, and something isn’t adding up.
He isn’t dressed like the rich pricks she usually goes after. And there are two empty glasses beside each of them on the bar. They’ve been here for a while, talking and… laughing.
She’s laughing with him.
His eyes flicker over to me, and he leans into her, whispering in her ear. Their body language is too familiar to be new. Something definitely isn’t right.
I stalk towards her. He’s watching, but her back is turned to me. And then she leans in and…
She kisses him.
Thirty-Two
Scarlett
I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go- F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Booker’s really going after it.
His hand is on the back of my head, his lips moving over mine, and he’s kissing me like a man who’s thirsted for it for years.
When I finally pull away, I’m breathless, and anxious, and I still can’t bear witness to the expression on Rory’s face.
I don’t even know if he’s still there.
I don’t know anything, except for this pain inside of me.
“Think he bought it?” I force out.
“Oh, he bought it,” Booker says. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. It’s been a while.”
“Someday you’ll have to tell me who you were really thinking about.”
I try to look happy, but it feels more like a grimace.
Booker rubs the scars on his hand, and it occurs to me exactly who he was thinking about.
Storm?
That’s why he wants to track her down.
I wonder if he knows her.
I cling to this thought because it’s the distraction I need right now. While I commit my final act as this cold-hearted bitch.
“Scarlett.”
Rory’s voice is deep and menacing behind me.
The commitment to this idea is fading in his presence. And I lock onto Booker’s eyes, searching for the resolve I need.
Maybe it would be better if I just let Alexander kill me.
Or if I went to prison.
Anything is better than this.
Rory doesn’t deserve this.
But Booker knows exactly what I’m thinking. He squeezes my hand in encouragement. A reminder that I’m doing this to protect Rory too.
That’s the thing I focus on while I muster up the energy for one final performance. One so good that even Rory Brodrick won’t know I’m faking it.
He will be safe.
The FBI won’t touch him. Alexander won’t touch him. And the syndicate won’t think he betrayed them because of me.
I swivel around on the stool and focus just above his eyes. I’ve locked myself down. I’ve thrown away the key.
I can do this.
“What are you doing here?” I bite.
“A word?”
It sounds like a question, but it isn’t, because he’s dragging me from the stool by my arm. And Booker’s following, like we planned.
“Get your hands off her,” Booker tells him.
And I’ve got to give him credit, he’s a pretty good actor too.
Still, Rory’s Rory… so he just glowers at him and tells him to piss off.
“It’s okay,” I tell Booker, just like we planned. “I only need a minute. Get me another drink, will you?”
He hesitates, then nods, and walks back to the bar. Leaving me alone with Rory, which is a dangerous place to be.
One wrong glance, one little tremor, and he’ll know.
I can’t let myself feel. I can’t let myself fail.
I have to protect him.
I have to do the thing that hurts the most, so he doesn’t pay the consequences of my sins.
“What the fuck are ye doing?” he demands. “You were in my bloody bed an hour ago, Scarlett. My dick is still covered in your come. Or have you forgotten so quickly?”
“I’m done,” I tell him.
There’s a long pause of silence, and he grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. Really look at him.
“This isn’t a goddamn joke,” he says. “Or a game. I meant what I said about fighting for you. But this is crossing the line. Do ye want me to murder the poor bloke? Because that’s what’ll happen here.”