The Wrong Number (Bad For Me #4) Read Online Lindsey Hart

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy Tags Authors: Series: Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
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“Granny!” Atlas covers his face with his hands, smoothing them down his cheeks in slow motion. “That’s a shit way to explain things. You can’t just dump it on her! You said we’d talk. But that’s not talking. That’s telling! You’re not being patient. You can’t just expect her to join us when she doesn’t even know what she’s joining. And now she knows, which inherently puts her in danger, so how are we supposed to protect her? You were supposed to have a plan!”

“This is the plan!” Atlas’ granny turns to face me. My whole body is about as rigid and tight as the knot blocking my throat. “She’s going to say you’re an insensitive turd, Atlas, and that’s probably slightly true. Then, she’s going to be angry that you didn’t trust her, and she’s going to be butthurt about the fact that you think she can’t handle this because all her life, people have been telling her that what she wants to do isn’t going to work out. She gets the dumpy end of the stick just about every single time. Just look at the house her parents dumped off on her. She’s going to spend a few minutes drowning in the woe-is-me pity party, but then she’s going to realize she’s smart, capable, and has the ability to take control of her own life. She’s going to move on from those feelings of anger and helplessness and use that bitterness and all the naysayers to prove everyone wrong. She’s going to be the person she wants to be, and she’s not going to apologize for it. Not only that, but she’s also going to learn how to be a proud badass, and that’s with or without us. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s going to be worth it.”

“Granny!” Atlas’ hands fall away from his face and bang down on the table. He stares at the knife-wielding woman at the head of the table like she’s lost her mind. “How can you say that? With or without us? This is my life! You can’t…you can’t just spout all that and expect it to work out!”

“That’s not true!” Thankfully, that knife is finally set down, and a new calm radiates out from this woman, who I’m tempted to believe is actually a ninja wearing a very convincing granny suit. “It is going to work out because all her life, people have been telling her that she doesn’t have the spine or the balls to handle the truth or live a life of her choosing, and that’s straight-up bull-doody. People have underestimated you, Victoria, because you’re shy and quiet. They tell you that you can’t do the things you dream about and that you should get real. Am I wrong?”

I’m too stunned to respond. How much of this has she figured out on her own, and how much has Atlas told her? Am I really that transparent? Can someone just take my life and sum it up in a few sentences just like that? What the hell does she mean when she says they are the not-mafia mafia? Are they seriously a bunch of vigilante crime fighters? Did Atlas really lie and have a cover for his cover? Then, when I asked him if there was anything else he wanted or needed to tell me, he looked me in the eye, held me in his arms, and said there wasn’t.

Basically, this whole thing is one giant fucking fuck ton of a lie.

“You know,” I whisper, my voice so thin that it’s barely there at all. “This is fucked up. We’ve had zero time to establish a baseline of trust, but I did trust Atlas, which tells me that I’m an imbecile. Maybe this is why I never dated. Because it’s fucked up and shitty and always ends like this at least ninety-five point eight percent of the time. Drama. That’s what I seriously don’t need in my life. I freaking knew that. I knew life wasn’t a story, but I was silly and believed that because I could write it, which I can’t even seem to freaking do, I could live it too. Have the fucking cake, eat the fucking cake, fuck the fucking cake—”

Orion interrupts my tirade by thrusting his hands over his ears. “Wait, is ‘cake’ a metaphor for my brother? Because if it is, I seriously need to bow out of this conversation right now.”

“Argh!” I slap my palm onto the table and turn to face Atlas, who has turned a terrible shade of bed sheet white. “You could have told me the truth, but you didn’t. You could have been honest when you asked if we could talk, but you weren’t. Honestly, this is my fault. I should have known better. I shouldn’t have just blindly surged forward with all my terrible hopes like a jack fecking arse.”


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