Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
He made my problems disappear.
Put me out of harm’s way, no matter the price.
“I’m not buying your charade,” I said pointedly.
“Fine.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “Then let’s get real. I’m glad your bouji ass is living the good life. Got yourself a sugar daddy and found your sass, huh?” Paxton winked, his charming, dimpled smile on full display. He jerked my fridge open, taking out a glass bottle of juice. The kitchen had been stocked thrice a week by Cillian’s people.
The thought of Paxton being here, drinking an organic pressed juice at Kill’s expense made me want to punch him into a wall.
I hadn’t been fair to my husband.
He fulfilled his end of the bargain, providing me with everything he’d promised and more. In return, I pushed him into giving me things he was incapable of providing. Love, sympathy, and tenderness.
Kill deserved to know everything.
About my plan to destroy Arrowsmith.
About Paxton being here.
“The word you are looking for is a husband. My husband does well for himself, yes,” I corrected. “But even more important than his deep pockets, he was kind enough to get me out of the trouble you got me into. Knowing Cillian, he won’t appreciate you being here, so I suggest you get out of here before he does the job Byrne couldn’t finish.”
Paxton snapped his head toward me mid-sip, his eyes bulging.
“Don’t tell me you fell in love with him. That’s such a sap move, Pers. Rich boys don’t have hearts.”
“Neither do poor ones from Southie, apparently.”
He collapsed onto a barstool, groaning as he scrubbed his face.
“Look, I know I haven’t been the man you deserve, babe. But I needed a way out. I knew you were going to get us out of trouble. I couldn’t keep in touch while you were working on getting us out of this, but I stood on the sidelines and watched, ready to pounce if they actually did something to you. I always had your back, Pers. I did this to protect you. Protect us.”
The lie was so half-assed, that I felt hysterical laughter bubbling in my throat. He continued, undeterred.
“Our goodbye was temporary. I always planned to come back. You were smart, resourceful, and responsible. I just needed you to do me this little solid. When I saw the article about your marriage to Cillian Fitzpatrick, I wanted to kiss you. I thought, ‘that’s my girl.’ I was beginning to worry Byrne would follow up on his threat to pimp you out. I was about to step in.”
He put a hand to his chest. He looked like a bad soap opera actor. The type to win a Razzie award every year and be arrogant enough to walk the red carpet to accept it.
My blood buzzed. I was on the brink of smashing his nose in with my fist, and I never hurt so much as a fly.
“You knew they were following me?” I gritted out.
He nodded. “I kept an eye on you the entire time. Made sure you were okay. I was worried sick, Pers.”
“I wasn’t okay.”
“You really need to give yourself more credit, babe. You did great.”
“How did you keep tabs on me?” I demanded.
“Friends.”
“Which friends?”
“C’mon.” He waved his hand around as though I was missing the entire point.
“Where were you, Paxton?” I pressed, taking a step toward him.
No part of me was unsure or ambivalent.
No disappointment.
No sorrow.
No pang of that wild heartbreak that tore at me each time Cillian left my bed at night.
All I felt was disgust.
“Here and there,” Paxton sulked, averting his eyes from me to his shoes.
The idiot thought he could waltz into my life and reclaim me.
He mistook my bleeding heart for a dumb brain.
“You either answer my questions or I’m calling security.” I raised my phone in the air.
He shot me a tired smile.
“How’d you think I ended up here? The security in this place is trash.”
“In that case”—I swiped my finger over my phone’s screen—“I’ll call my husband. Don’t let his rich-boy reputation confuse you. He is very good with his hands, beyond just making me come.”
Paxton’s jaw constricted, his eyes darkening.
“Don’t,” he bit out. “Fine. Whatever, Persy. You wanna play? I’m game. What do you wanna know?”
“Who told you about Byrne and Kaminski following me?”
“Mitch.” Mitch was the guy he was paired with by Byrne for assignments. “He was still hustling for Colin a few months after I bailed. Still shoots the shit with Kaminski every now and again.”
“Where were you all this time?”
“Costa Rica was my first stop. The day word got out that Byrne knew I blew all our savings and couldn’t pay him back, I bought a one-way ticket. I laid low there. Worked in construction. Saved up whatever I could. At first, I’d hoped I could come up with half the money, then pay the rest in Boston. I always wanted it to work between us, Persy. I just knew keeping in touch with you was going to put you in a whole lotta risk. Then the news of you marrying Fitzpatrick broke the fucking internet. There were memes about it, dude. I picked up the phone and called Mitch. Asked if it was true. He told me your husband made sure Kaminski could never take a piss standing up again he trashed him so bad. Byrne wasn’t doing so hot, either. I realized I was probably next on your husband’s shit list. That he was going to unleash Sam Brennan on me. Brennan has eyes and ears everywhere, so I moved up to Mexico. Cancun. Stayed with a friend.”