Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 44899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Apparently, not everyone had been distracted by the fireworks. I heard him approach. Had to be the guy at the bar with the bartender. The second I made eye contact with him I knew he’d follow me. Men were predictable like that, but this guy was different. There was something in his eyes that intrigued me for some reason. I’d only met his gaze for a couple seconds but knew he’d seek me out. Didn’t expect him to follow me into the alley, but maybe he was a glutton for punishment.
“You’re not as subtle as you think you are,” I said, finally turning to face him.
“Wasn’t trying to be subtle.” His voice was deep but mellow, almost soothing under the right conditions. Or hot as fuck. “Just curious about the woman who engineered a bar fight for fun.”
I smiled, not bothering to deny it. “What makes you think it was for fun?”
“Because you didn’t take anything. No wallets went missing. No one specific got targeted.” He shrugged, a small movement. “And you smiled the whole time.”
“Maybe I just like to watch the world burn.”
“Maybe.” He studied me like I was an enigma he wanted to unravel. “Or maybe you’re bored.”
I laughed at that, the sound echoing against the brick walls. “Honey, I’m many things, but bored isn’t one of them.”
He didn’t smile back, but something in his eyes shifted. “I’m Sully.”
“Darby.”
The back door of Throttle banged open, letting out angry voices and the smell of spilled whiskey into the night. I tensed, ready to bolt if necessary.
“There’s another place down the street,” Sully said, jerking his head toward the end of the alley. “If you’re not done for the night.”
I weighed my options. I could disappear, find another bar across town. The smart play would be to call it a night. Or I could follow this man and see what happened next. The reckless play. And honestly. I was trying to get Tonio Miles to kick me the fuck out of his house and leave me the fuck alone. That thought sealed my fate.
“Lead the way.” I grinned up at Sully, and he smirked at me. This was going to be fun.
We walked side by side, the sidewalks illuminated by store signs and streetlights, neither of us speaking for half a block. Nashville hummed around us, country music spilling from bars, drunk tourists laughing too loud. We heard the occasional whine of a pedal tavern passing by even at this late hour as semi-drunken patrons pedaled the roving bar around the Music District, complete with country music and drinks.
“So, Sully,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “What’s your deal? You don’t seem like the typical Throttle crowd.”
“What’s typical?” He glanced down at me, those sharp eyes missing nothing.
“Louder. Dumber. Less…” I gestured vaguely at him. “Calculating.”
“I could say the same about you. And I hang out there all the time. You’re the newcomer.”
I deliberately brushed against him as we passed under a streetlight, my shoulder making contact with his arm. He didn’t flinch or pull away. Then again, most men wouldn’t. And this one was definitely interested.
“I go where the action is,” I said.
“And leave before the consequences?”
I grinned. “See? You understand me.”
“Prison teaches observation skills.” He said it casually, like mentioning the weather, but I caught the test in it. Seeing if I’d run.
“What were you in for?” I asked, matching his casual tone.
“Technically, assault.” His lips quirked in what might have been a smile. “Sounds cliché, but I really was innocent of what they arrested me for. But the skull fracture I gave the little puke I took the fall for was all me. And I’ll do it a second time if I ever see him again.”
I whistled low. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”
“Always is.” His hand found the small of my back as we crossed the street, the touch light but deliberate. Heat bloomed from that single point of contact, spreading through me like wildfire. When we reached the curb, he let his hand drop, but the ghost of his touch remained. And I knew I needed more.
“Your turn,” he said. “What’s your story?”
“No story. Just a girl having fun.”
“Bullshit.” He was definitely observant.
I laughed, genuinely amused by his bluntness. “Fine. I’m a professional chaos consultant. I create strategic disorder for corporate clients looking to destabilize their competition.”
He snorted a laugh. “Now you’re just fucking with me.”
“Am I?” I raised an eyebrow, reaching out to brush my fingers against his. “That our destination?” We stopped in front of a nicer bar closer to Music Row. He didn’t pull his hand away.
“Less rowdy. Better whiskey.”
“I like rowdy,” I said.
“Oh, believe me, I noticed. Everyone did.”
The sign read The Bottom Shelf in blue neon. No bouncers, no line outside. Just a plain door with a small window.
“Seems boring,” I observed.