Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“I bet he’s like a bus with no wheels,” Matt begins, his Irish accent thicker than I’ve ever heard it. “You get on, but it doesn’t take you where you want to go. And when it’s time to get off, he leaves you sorely disappointed.” Somehow, he slides between them, disconnecting Mitchell’s fingers. He whisks Eve to his side, and then the pair is gone.
The fist wrapped around my heart eases, the music seeming to pick up as, in the periphery of my vision, couples seem to whirl like dervishes.
“Come to save her?” he sneers.
“Not for the first time.”
“Fuck off. I know you were having her all along.” With his accusation, flecks of spittle fly from his thick lips.
“You really don’t know her at all.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
“Not that I wouldn’t have, though your anger strikes me as ironic, given you’re the one in the wrong.” As far as Eve is concerned, at least.
“Bastard,” he growls, his accent betraying him, all round vowels.
I almost answer that we’re one and the same, but I’m not like him. I don’t have to be, I decide, as I turn away. I want Eve. I also desperately want to kick seven colors of shit out of the man, but I know that kind of satisfaction rarely lasts.
What does feel good is winning.
I have his fiancée.
I’m about to own Northaby House.
He’ll be seeing my face in his nightmares for decades.
“Fuck it,” he spits before I’ve taken a step. “What do I care if you want her? It was good pussy while it lasted. But then, so was Lucy. Easy come, easy go, if you know what I mean,” he adds with a wink.
I see red—bloodred—and swing around to smash my fist into the middle of his face. Violins and viola screech to a halt, and waves of people part like the Red Sea. Mitchell lies in the middle, splayed out on the floor. Blood oozes from a nose that’s probably broken, judging by the throb in my knuckles. My chest heaves as I stand over him. His eye is already swelling, and I want so badly to stamp my heel into his fucking face.
“Easy. Yes.” Breath rushes down my nose, and I swipe my hair back from my head. “You set the bar so low, you make it a cakewalk.” I’m surprised how calm my voice sounds as I kneel, ignoring his worried wince. “Let me give you a little advice,” I say, examining my swollen knuckles. “Sometime in the future, when you’re feeling lonely or nostalgic and pining for Eve, you might think about whipping out your pathetic cock to abuse yourself to some old memory.” Grabbing his lapels, I jerk him up from the floor, bringing us face to face. “But just remember, while you’re pretending, imagining, I’ll be the one fucking her mouth.” I push him away like the garbage he is, and he falls to his elbows. I stand and adjust my cuffs. “One other thing. If I ever see you near either Eve or Lucy again, I will fucking end you.”
I stalk away, ignoring looks and judgment. My blood runs alternatively hot and cold as I think about my actions. Punching him was out of character, but I have no regrets and will face any possible consequences with a grin, because it felt good. It felt necessary. Like a release.
But now I need to find Eve.
Ah, Eve. The shit I just said.
My heart sinks. I’m no better than him. She deserves so much more.
I make my way toward the pavilion, scanning faces and the backs of heads before I see them, a trio huddled furtively on the other side of the terrace. My legs eat up the space between us, and the reason for their huddle becomes apparent: a bottle of whisky, no doubt swiped from the bar. The wealthier Fin gets, the more brazen his light-fingeredness seems to become. It doesn’t matter that tonight is an open bar. It’s the challenge that calls to him.
I pause for a moment, partly to calm this raging bull inside me, but also to see what this lot is up to.
“Her?” Matt squints into the gardens.
“Yes, you should go and speak to her,” Eve says.
He tugs on his ear, then swings the bottle up to his lips. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he says, “She’s not my type.”
“But she’s gorgeous!” Taking the outstretched bottle, Eve takes a sip, then grimaces. “I don’t know why anyone would drink whisky.”
“Because what whisky will not cure, there is no cure for.”
“I’m more concerned for what it might break.” She gives in to a whole-body shiver. “You’re sure this stuff hasn’t ruined your eyesight? That girl is smoking hot.”
“My eyesight is grand. I’ve just seen more meat on a spider’s knuckle.”
Eve’s attention slices Fin’s way, but he can’t answer for laughing. “A spider’s what?” she says, turning back.