Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
As my landlord starts up another screaming match with the fire chief, I quietly slip into the chaos, sinking backward and disappearing into the gathered crowd so silently that nobody notices, not even the two morons who haven’t stopped gaping at the wreckage we just escaped.
I start walking, block after block, until the sound of the fire trucks fades into a distant hum, and before I know it, I’m standing at the back door of Black Velvet just as two Harley Davidsons pull into the alley, the engines so loud my brain rattles inside my head.
Stepping away from the door, I walk up to Dean and Marcus, hoping like fuck they remembered to bring a set of keys, seeing as though mine are likely melted into scrap metal.
Marcus is the first to get off his bike, his gaze snapping to me and scanning over me from head to toe, and I almost cringe, knowing what he must see.
Soot clumped in my unbrushed hair, ash covering my skin, no shoes or pants. Hell, I don’t even recall if I remembered to put underwear on under Maddox’s massive shirt. All that mattered was leaving that place.
“Jesus Christ,” Marcus grunts, freezing as he watches me. “The fuck happened to you?”
Dean’s head snaps up at Marcus’ tone, and my shoulders slump. “I had a rough morning.”
“Lyra,” Marcus warns, not in the mood to fish for answers.
I sigh. “My apartment exploded,” I explain. “You know the dark room you guys helped me build a few years back?”
They each nod, and I let out a heavy breath. “Chemical reaction gone wrong,” I tell them, not willing to explain just how that happened. “Managed to take out my whole apartment and part of the one across from me.”
“Fucking hell,” Dean mutters, pushing his hand back through his hair. “Anybody get hurt?”
I shake my head. “Only my pride.”
Marcus scrunches his face. “Shit, girl. You need anything? Clothes? Food? I know better than to offer you my couch, but I’ll have my old lady come drop you off a survival pack.”
“No, no,” I say, holding up my hands. “I don’t want Bri to go to any trouble. I can have all of that figured out tomorrow. For now, I just want to clean up and work.”
Dean sputters. “You want to work?”
“Damn right I do,” I tell him.
Marcus mutters something under his breath before making his way toward the back entrance of Black Velvet and pulling his keys out of his pocket. He fiddles with the door for a while before finally getting it open and swinging it wide.
“Go shower, Lyra,” he says, “And take some painkillers. You might not need them now, but later tonight once that music comes on, you’re gonna thank me.”
I nod and stride past him. “Thanks. I will.”
The staff bathroom sits tucked away behind the office, complete with a small shower that mostly exists for emergencies. Turns out having your apartment explode qualifies.
I step into the hot water, and while it washes away the soot, ash, and dust, it doesn’t do anything for the heartbreak that grows like a physical pain in my chest. It doesn’t bring back my home, my bed, my photographs, and it sure as hell doesn’t bring me back my peace.
But I’ll rebuild. I always figure myself out. No matter what.
I stand under the spray for way too long, doing everything I can not to think about what I’ve lost, but it’s a losing battle, and when it becomes too much, I shut the water off and get dressed into a Black Velvet cropped uniform tank. There’s a pair of black ripped jeans in my office, and while I’ll have to forego underwear, that’s not entirely a problem.
There’s a hairbrush and a small makeup kit for emergencies in my desk drawer, and after twenty minutes, I’ve managed to pull myself together enough to look presentable to work the bar for the night.
It’ll be the perfect distraction.
By the time I’m stepping out onto the floor and moving in behind the bar, my usual Black Velvet persona is back and thriving. I have my attitude as my greatest weapon, a flirty smile, and my walls are firmly back in place.
Nothing is breaking me down tonight.
The usual Friday night crowd rushes in, and it’s enough to keep me occupied with orders. I have to perform my sexy Britney “Toxic” dance at least three times, and I even get the pleasure of slapping the shit out of someone who approaches the bar with the code word of the week, looking for the famous Velvet Slap.
I’m just starting to feel like myself, vibing to the music, generally enjoying my night, when I feel the tension shift in the air, and I glance up only to immediately regret surviving the blast.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, irritation burning through me as I find both Maddox and Hunter standing by the entrance, their dark, twisted stares locked on me.