Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Fine, if you won’t see a doctor, then I’ll look after you. Where are your keys?”
“You can’t drive,” I remind her.
“Of course I can. I just don’t like driving in the city.” She digs into my bag and pulls out my keys. “Get up. We need to get ice on your injuries.”
“Why are you here?” I ask again. “You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I hate your sister.”
She takes my bag and lifts it over her shoulder.
“I don’t need your help,” I mumble.
“You do. Do you want the pain? Do you need more of it? I can stab you again if that’s what you’re after,” she says, and a small smile plays on my lips, which hurts because I was punched in the mouth.
“No. I know you have marvelous stabbing abilities, but I would rather not be on the receiving end of that again.”
She shrugs and starts for the back door when all of a sudden, the other door opens, and Arlo and Reon walk in. Of course, tonight is the night both of them decide to come. They immediately notice Cressida.
Arlo waggles his brows before he turns to me. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” Arlo says. “With the reporter.”
Reon eyes Cressida with a bit of contempt, and I know he’s judging her. “You’re seeing a reporter?” Reon asks.
“No,” Cressida answers. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I used to be a journalist. Get it right!” She rolls her eyes, then adds, “Good to see you both again.”
To me, she says, “I’ll wait for you in your car.” And then she leaves.
The last time she saw Arlo was at the awards gala I took her to. Before that, she saw both of them at a party she crashed to get more information on me for her story. Neither of them nor their partners gave her anything, but I have to give her credit where credit is due because she tried hard.
“You took a beating,” Arlo notes.
“Maya is out of the hospital,” Reon says.
“I did. And, yes, I know.” I sigh. “Why are you here?”
“We were concerned. You missed the last party, and you haven’t been active recently. You are our Lord, or did you forget that?” Arlo explains.
“I was at the hunt,” I remind them. “But you’re right. I am your Lord, and it would do you both well to remember that.”
“Or what? You’ll let us beat you?” Reon scoffs, clenching his fists. “I see that’s what you seem to enjoy these days.”
“Yeah, well, maybe today I did.”
“You should stop fighting here. If you want to be beaten, come to me. I’ll happily break a few of your ribs,” Reon offers with a glint in his eye.
“Of course you would.”
I glance at the back door.
“Getting into a relationship with a woman who was trying to take you down is not ideal,” Arlo says, always trying to be the voice of reason.
“I’m not in a relationship with her,” I tell him, voice clipped and cool. Not yet. Not like I want to be. I hate that I have to say it like this, like it’s a fact I’m trying to convince myself of as much as him. Because if I’m honest, none of this is simple.
“Now, if that’s all, I need to leave.” I turn away before I say something I can’t take back.
“My wife would like you to come to our wedding anniversary party,” Reon says. “Two years,” he adds proudly. “Though I can’t guarantee she won’t try to kill you.”
“She’s wanted to kill me for many years now.”
“That she has.”
With nothing left to say, I head out the back door, leaving them standing in the dressing room.
THIRTY-FIVE
CRESSIDA
Case Notes
Do not cook for the enemy.
I’m sitting in his car, waiting.
It doesn’t take long before I see him emerge from the building, one arm wrapped around his ribs like he’s holding himself together. They’re probably killing him, though I doubt he’d ever admit it.
Soren slides into the passenger seat with a wince he tries to hide, turns his head toward me, and smirks. “If your plan is to kill me with your driving, I just want you to know, I’m fully prepared to die with you.”
I scoff as I start the car. “I would never kill myself. I have my son to think about.”
“Good to know.” After a beat, he adds, “He seems like a good kid.”
“He is.” I hesitate before confiding, “He liked you.” When he doesn’t reply right away, I glance at him to find him staring out the window.
“Kids don’t like me,” he finally says.
“My kid did.”
We drive in silence for a few minutes, and I wonder what it is that broke this man so much.
“Your friends… They don’t like you hanging out with me, do they?”
“Who cares what they think?” he replies, then asks, “What do you plan to do once you get me home?”