Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Climbing from the car, I feel the safety blanket of Killian’s presence slipping away. It slides loose, and I’m left with the cold fact of the outside….
With added danger now.
Somebody’s out there if Killian’s telling the truth.
Somebody is hunting me.
CHAPTER 13
Killian
“We don’t allow dogs,” the receptionist tells me.
I’m at a motel just two streets over from Mia’s address, the lobby stinking of cigarette smoke and musty carpet.
The receptionist looks like he’s fused to his heavy armchair, his glasses big and chunky, magnifying his eyes.
Speeder sits patiently at my side.
Reaching into my wallet, I take out a fifty and place it on the desk.
The receptionist eyes it, then looks at me again.
When I place another fifty down, he scoops both up and leans forward with a grin, his chair making a whining noise.
“I’m sure he’s a well-behaved little guy, right?”
I know this could cross into stalker territory, but I don’t care, not when the taste of my woman is still on my lips, not when I know how much is at stake if Emil decides to go the whole way and try to take her from me.
As I walked Speeder across the parking lot, I remembered the closeness just ten or so minutes ago… the feel of her lips, her hands, and how easily all that stuff about my dad spilled out of me.
The mob. My dark past.
I didn’t go into detail about the evil stuff my dad did, the violence, and the pain, but I didn’t feel like I needed to. It was as if my woman understood without me needing to crack open the vault of me and let it all out.
The room is rundown, the sheets clean but clearly old, the wallpaper peeling here and there. But it’s the closest place to Mia’s apartment block where I can rent a room.
If she called me, I could be over there in minutes.
I meant what I said, I type, sitting on the mattress and causing Speeder to cringe away as it whines. Call me if you need to leave the house for groceries or anything else. If anything suspicious happens, call me.
“What am I going to do about work, boy?”
Speeder sits on the carpet, head tilted, looking at me like I’m crazy.
My cell phone rings. I answer it quickly, assuming it will be Mia.
It’s not.
Emil seems too proud and might need somebody to teach him some manners.
“How’s your lady?”
If you touch her, you’re a dead man, I almost say, but that would be giving him extra ammunition, letting him know how much I care.
“You must have more important business than spying on my studio, Emil,” I say. “What is it? You’re not the top dog anymore.”
He was always easy to rile up.
His silence tells me I’ve succeeded, and his voice is low and vicious when he speaks again.
“I could have lots of fun with her.”
“We both know how that would end.”
He scoffs, but he can’t mask the tremor.
But my fighting ability would only matter if he was stupid enough to step up to me in a fair contest, which he would never do.
“Careful,” he says, voice weak.
“I don’t get why you care about this so much,” I snap. “It was a different lifetime. I haven’t stepped foot into the boxing ring for almost ten years. I’m a tattooist, nothing more – a business owner. That’s it. I don’t have anything to offer you.”
“Maybe I’m in the mood to settle old scores,” he grunts. “Maybe a man gets to a certain place in his life and, looking back, he realizes he let too many people get away with too much crap.”
“I can’t throw a fight for you now.”
“No, but you should have when you were offered the chance. You’re going to regret that.”
I sigh through gritted teeth, my body aching as if with the need for violence. Or maybe it’s from how recently I was pushed up against Mia, every instinct roaring at me.
“Do you realize how goddamn petty this is?” I snarl. “You’re thinking about the people, who, in your mind, wronged you. You need to move on.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” he snaps. “You weren’t made a laughing stock.”
“A laughing stock?”
“Don’t act like you care.”
I lean back at this. There’s a vulnerability in his voice.
It’s never been there before, not at any point I can remember. Emil sounds twenty or thirty years younger, a kid eager for a friend to share in his pain.
I don’t give a single damn, I almost say, but that wouldn’t be smart.
“I never had anything against you personally,” I tell him.
It’s a lie. He threatened friends, forcing them to throw fights and sabotaging careers.
Speeder tilts his head at me again as if annoyed at me for lying. But it’s not like I’ve got any obligation to be honest with this asshole, especially after he threatened my woman.