Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Some narcissists are just charmers with huge egos. Nothing much to worry about as long as you don’t believe the bullshit they spout off about themselves.
Malignant narcissists are the ones you’ve got to watch out for. They’ll do anything to feed their sense of superiority and control. Anything to shore up their self-image and tighten their grip.
Anything.
Which makes me wonder what he’s getting out of his Delilah fix when she’s not the kind of girl who’ll dole out endless flattery to stroke his ego.
Hell, she barely tolerates his presence with awkward smiles and glassy eyes.
I know I shouldn’t be staring that hard with knives spinning in my veins.
I’m just a jealous fucking addict.
I keep going back for more punishment, even when it’s like a stick to the eye every time she looks through me.
We always seem to notice each other before we make eye contact, like a sixth sense.
Just like I know she’s there before I even see her through the café window today.
She’s too pretty, this delicate thing you wouldn’t guess could take a man out in half a second with that wicked tongue.
Her hair’s completely loose today, cascading over her shoulders in waves, this beautiful dark cloak that makes her the regal queen she is in my eyes.
I stop across the street with my heart tangled up, this hunger throbbing away as I watch her poking her straw in and out of her drink. She’s looking at Ulysses without quite making eye contact.
All while he smiles at her like a fucking doofus with a crayon drawing his teacher just told him was a Picasso masterpiece.
I can’t hear their conversation, of course.
And I don’t need to know the words to have the flaming urge to bust in and drag her away from him.
Can’t blame Ollie for everything, though. All evidence points toward Culver Jacobin as Delilah’s stalker.
She shouldn’t be in any real danger from him, at least in theory. Especially when she knows he’s just baiting her, bringing her to his twisted fuck of an old man.
I’m not worried she’ll fall into Montero’s clutches.
I’m confident Lilah’s too smart to let that happen.
Just as long as she still believes me.
As long as she hasn’t branded me such a liar that she’s dismissed everything I ever said about Celeste.
Fuck, no.
I won’t get tied up in that again, or else I’ll talk myself out of making a real attempt to talk to her when the time is right.
Soon.
If she still won’t take my texts and calls then, I’ll show up on her doorstep. I’ll see if I can convince her to listen to me one more time, to remember what we had before that argument was something worth fighting for.
Today, I’ll be the man.
Better than the jealous little monkey hopping up and down inside me.
I’ll go with my better instincts and wait.
Grumbling, I prop my shoulder against one of the trees planted next to the sidewalk, resting in the shade, mentally working through the plan of attack again.
No one’s seen the Jacobins in town since the night we staked out their farm, but they’re up there. A little long-range surveillance on foot with binoculars confirmed that, and now and then we’ve seen their trucks on the roads moving in and out of town.
Damn odd.
I don’t have long to ponder that, though.
After a few minutes, Ulysses stands, bowing to Delilah as he says something that involves checking his phone. He beams at a limp wave of her hand, her smile so strained it might break.
I hate this shit.
If he annoys her so much, why is she with him?
That the cop in you talking, Lucas? Or your fucking inner monkey?
Not sure there’s much difference right now.
Ulysses leaves, stepping out into the sunlight. He doesn’t glance in my direction before he sets off down the street toward the town square.
Delilah lingers inside the shop. Her false, tight smile fades slowly, leaving a pensive expression as she frowns down at her drink, slowly swirling her straw without taking another sip.
The longing cuts me off at the knees.
That need, that gravity, almost pulls me across the street so I can throw my arms around her, even if it’d win me nothing more than a searing slap to the face for my trouble.
I only stop myself as she lifts her head, glancing around, and then turns to the big front window. She’s obviously checking for Ulysses.
She’s seriously not buying your shit, fella.
I smirk to myself.
With a sweep of her hair over her shoulder, Delilah gets up, shouldering her bag and tossing back the last of her drink before heading for the door. Something on her wrist glints with the movement, catching my eye with a shimmer of rose gold.
Huh?
It can’t be.
Oh, but of course it fucking is.
My vision goes flashing red.
And even as she steps onto the sidewalk with the door chiming, I’m moving, stalking across the street like a charging tiger.