Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Yeah, and I need to get the hell to Nevada tonight.
“Thanks, Gran.” I stuff the rest of my third muffin into my mouth as I jump to my feet. “Sorry about the crumbs, but I’ve just remembered some—some urgent business.”
“I see,” she says dryly. “Shake your tail, then. Lord knows I don’t want to hold you up, gabbing about nothing.”
“We’ll do this again real soon,” I promise.
Then I give her a grateful nod and shake her gnarled hand before I gun it out the door. As I’m walking to my vehicle, I text Luis to book me the next flight to Lake Tahoe and keep Queenie company for a few days.
I never got an address, but I can find out where the Marshalls have their property.
In less than an hour, I’m packed and ready.
I’m about to head out the door when my phone starts buzzing and doesn’t stop. Not a call, but a fuckload of notifications.
I stop to check.
The first thing I see is a new text from Luis—check Instagram—and I open the app with a ragged sigh.
I’m swamped with tags, mentions—far more than usual for posting nothing new.
I don’t have to scroll far before I’m confused.
Tags and DMs demanding if I knew.
If I’m okay with this.
People showering me with sympathies.
A call from Dad comes in, and I swipe it away, heading for a post by a particularly shitty online tabloid I recognize.
But it’s not me feeding the scandal mill for once.
It’s Lena.
The photos make my jaw drop.
She’s on a yacht, looking younger. There’s a lot of skin showing, and everything’s blurred, but it’s obvious what she’s doing. And it’s equally clear the man in the photos isn’t me when he has that ridiculous mustache I want to rip off with my bare hands.
I drop onto the sofa and slump against the cushions. Queenie gets up from sunning herself and strides over, leaning against me with a groan.
The dog is psychic. She knows how gutted I am.
And that’s when I realize the idiotic lawsuit was never the real attack. This is how he’s striking back, and it’s eviscerating.
That gutter rat still had the photos. The videos. The blackmail.
Now, a whole bunch of gossipy tabloids and online shit-rakers have it too.
The story spreads like wildfire, splashing across every social media app known to man.
Situation: Fuck.
Fuck!
Another call comes in, this time from Mom. Again, I swipe to decline it, staring at the screen like something will magically change.
I chuck my phone onto the coffee table in disgust, slowly breathing as I focus on massaging Queenie’s neck.
It’s the only thing that grounds me as she licks my hand nervously.
The only reason why I don’t go berserk when I close my eyes.
This beautiful, kind dog disarms the ticking time bomb in my blood. And for the briefest moment, she rips me back through time, to greyhounds and Gramps, to a simpler time when I was too young and innocent to have mortal enemies or a possessive streak.
Every time Queenie leans into my palm with a contented groan, I’m one with the sunshine and the dog races again.
I’m lounging in the back rooms after the races with these dogs built like straw bags and sticks, suddenly the gentlest creatures alive after sprinting around like overcaffeinated cheetahs.
Their owners would let me pet them while Gramps laughed his head off.
His bets didn’t matter.
Win, lose, or draw, the old man knew how to have a good time and appreciate life.
He taught me not to take everything so damn seriously—a lesson that feels like ten lifetimes ago now.
As Queenie leans up to slurp my cheek, I smile.
But not for long when all I can see is Lena’s naked body and the yellow stars someone pasted over her breasts, right before they pushed her biggest humiliation in front of the world.
Right after Harry goddamned Jay launched the retaliation I invited by murdering his business.
Disgusting, degrading fucking revenge porn.
Lena’s worst nightmare come true.
I choke back bile, even as I keep staring at the cityscape and stroking the dog, torturing myself with the evidence that she ever fucked that asshole and he used it against her.
My stomach wrenches, and I snap up, flinging my phone off the coffee table. It hits the floor with a crack!
To my relief, the screen goes dark.
When I pick it up, I see lines spidering across the screen.
“Sorry, girl,” I mutter to Queenie, grabbing her a dog cookie from the kitchen to compensate for the jump scare.
If I’d known he still had this ammo, I would’ve been more careful.
My hands shake as I run them through my hair, damn near creating bald patches.
If I’d known he’d use her to hurt me, I’d have kept my fucking mouth shut.
And Lena knew what was at stake.
She must have if she gave up Pawsome Hearts and me.
That’s why she ran.
She knew she was dealing with a mad dog, and I stupidly invited him to sink his rabid teeth into her flesh.