Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
His head tilted, his brown eyes beady. “I’m starting the motel next week. Already bought the land.” His mouth curled. “Wait a minute. Did you get a construction loan?”
Her stomach knotted. “Yeah.”
He exhaled and his shoulders relaxed. “Well then, we’ll just use that.”
“No,” she snapped. “We can’t. Ace and I got it together.”
“Then it looks like Ace is my partner now too,” he said. “The drunk won’t know the difference.”
Her hands curled into fists, nails digging crescent moons into her palms. “He’s not a drunk,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure she believed it.
“Oh yeah?” Jarod’s voice turned mean again. “We’ll see. When we get married, all of this will be half mine.”
“No, it won’t,” she shot back. “None of it will ever be yours.”
He shoved her, his palm driving into her shoulder, hard enough to knock her into the door behind her. Pain radiated down her back, dull and mean where the bruises hadn’t finished healing. “Do I need to show you the video again?”
“No,” she said quietly. “I have it committed to memory.” She had to get his phone and into his email somehow.
“Good.” His smile curved his too thin lips. “We’ll go to the bank tomorrow and get this fixed. Take the construction loan and use it on my land for the motel.” He turned and strutted out the back door, disappearing into the wet black of the rainy night. The screen creaked and then slammed behind him. The silence that followed felt heavy.
Amka stood frozen, heart galloping. Then her knees buckled and she grabbed the edge of the bed table for balance. Several deep breaths. They didn't help. What in the world was she going to do?
She’d joked once—half-joked—about hitting him with her car. Dark humor in a small town went far. But she couldn’t actually do it. No matter how tempting it was to end the problem with a steering wheel and a well-timed swerve.
But the idea clawed in anyway.
What if she did give him the construction loan and just walked away from the entire situation, even if that meant she’d have to pay off her bar and home again?
Would he give her the video?
Could she take that chance?
Maybe. Perhaps that was her best option. The move might put her and Ace’s project on hold for a little while. Ace would be furious. But he’d understand, right? If it meant protecting someone like Flossy, and it meant keeping herself out of prison? Of course, she’d have to tell Ace the truth.
Maybe.
Then again, she’d mortgaged everything. Her house. The bar. Her last shred of peace.
She didn't know what to do.
Her body gave out, sliding down the side of the wall until she sat on the floor, pink folder limp in her lap. Her breath sawed in and out, shallow and sharp. The air smelled like fryer oil and cheap cologne.
A soft knock broke the stillness.
She shifted to the side, stiff, blinking back the blur. “Yes?”
Daisy cracked open the door and peered down at her, brows drawn. “Christian sent me to check on you. You good?”
“I’m fine.” Amka stood, legs protesting, and quickly gathered the scattered papers, tucking them into the pink folder with jerky hands.
Daisy didn’t move, just leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “I guess he was mad, huh?”
A laugh tore out of Amka that didn’t feel funny. “I guess so.” She brushed dust from her jeans and straightened her flannel shirt. “Let’s go back to work.” Because what else was there? The way things were going, she’d be working long hours for the rest of her life.
That was…if she didn’t go to prison first.
Chapter 22
Amka finished pretending to work after about fifteen minutes of shifting things around. At least Jarod hadn't returned. No doubt he was scared of Christian. The guy wasn't a moron, but he should be scared of her. Ha. Right. Like she'd actually hurt him. She closed the cash drawer like it had personally offended her and wiped the same spot on the counter she'd already cleaned twice.
“Why don’t you go on home?” Daisy didn’t peer up from where she was stacking receipts.
Amka's gaze slid over to Christian across the tavern.
He had that look again. Tight shoulders, jaw clenched, hands flat on the table like they were the only thing keeping him in the building. He wasn’t fidgeting. Wasn’t twitching. Just sitting still like only he could. Like he was holding something in by force. His attention flicked to the front door, then back to the troopers talking shop at the table with him.
Amka didn’t ask. Not now, not ever. He hadn’t volunteered, and she hadn’t pressed. Whatever his reason was for going cagey indoors, it was his. But she'd watched him enough the last few months, coming in, getting soup, leaving fast, to know when he hit his limit. This was it.