Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I blink and swallow hard. Is she known for those things? Or is that simply what Roman told me, so I believed it?
Only one way to find out.
When I pull up to the gate, the guards don’t bother hiding their feelings, but neither do I. “I’m here to see Emma Porter.”
“Good for you.” The pot-bellied guard gives me a hard stare, then scoffs. “Thing is, does she want to see you?”
“Why don’t you call her and find out?” I ask.
This motherfucker is lucky I don’t have it in me today to take his bait after facing off with my brothers. They’re both looking for an excuse to exercise their tiny sphere of power here in guardhouse number one.
The other guy grabs the landline phone and calls while eyeing me through the window. “Yeah. Are you sure? All right, boss.” He says all right, but it sounds a lot like it’s your funeral. Then he slams his palm against the button that opens the gate. I watch them as I roll through, and the sneers never leave their faces. Big tough guys don’t even know what real monsters look like. Not until I have a reason to show ’em.
Directing my attention ahead, I take a deep breath and face forward. I can’t remember the last time I visited the ranch this way instead of sneaking in. Have I ever? It almost feels strange to be arriving in broad daylight. It doesn’t hit me until I see Allie’s car parked in front of the house. The sudden spike in my heart rate makes me realize how much I was hoping she would be here. It’s stupid because I hate her, yet I’m addicted to her at the same time.
There’s no limit to how fucked up I am.
An older woman opens the door a split second after I jam my thumb against the bell. It’s almost like she was waiting there for me. It takes no time at all to parse the sour look on her face, though, as she stares me down. “I’m here to see Emma Porter.”
“Yeah, I know.” It’s obvious she doesn’t like the idea, not that it’s any of her fucking business. “She’s in her office. This way.” She jerks her chin, motioning for me to follow her, and I do. I know where almost everything is in this house, but I let her lead me anyway. The memory of sneaking around makes me smirk. These fucking people. They think they’re safe behind these walls.
The older woman waves me inside, and I glance around. Instead of sitting at her desk like I would’ve expected, Emma is pouring herself a drink from the cabinet under a set of windows that makes me squint against the light flooding in. Her hair is back in its usual bun, without a strand out of place.
I see through her in a second flat. The ice in her glass rattles a little when she brings it to her lips for a long gulp.
After she swallows, she skims her gaze over me, as if she’s afraid to look at me head-on. “Would you like something?”
I should decline, but I don’t. Maybe I could use one too. “I didn’t come here for a drink, but if you’re offerin’...”
Without speaking, she pours a second glass and carefully sets the bottle back in place. Slowly, she lifts the glass and rolls her shoulders back as if she’s trying to gather the strength to look at me when she turns to face me again. As soon as our gazes collide, I spot the red rim around her eyes and the puffiness on her cheeks.
“I’m glad you came,” she says.
Instead of handing me the drink, she sets it on the corner of the desk, then sinks into a chair built for a man twice her size. It swallows her. She looks like a little kid playing in her daddy’s office rather than the woman running it.
I won’t underestimate her, though. Plenty of dumb bastards have, and they’ve regretted it.
“What do you want to see me for?” I ask, dropping into a chair opposite hers and swiping my drink from the desk. “What’s so important you won’t stop blowing up my phone?”
Her eyes narrow, glinting as she fully looks at me now. “You really don’t know?”
“What is there to know?” I want to hear her say it.
I won’t be the first to speak the word, and I definitely won’t make this easy for her.
I notice the slight quiver in her chin. Is she going to cry? My insides tighten as anger blooms in my chest.
“First, I want to say that I’m sorry to hear about your father. I hope Elena received the flowers I sent.”
“You, and the entire state of Montana.” I swirl the whiskey in the glass, watching her every move over the rim. “Though if we’re being candid, and I do think we should be honest with each other, you aren’t really sorry he’s gone, right? So why pretend?”