Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I grin at the nasal whininess the blood’s added to his voice.
Hazel arrives, stepping between Oliver and me with a pool stick at the ready. I’ve seen her beat the shit out of guys with one before, so I know she’s not fucking around. She’s also holding me back, protecting me from charges, not protecting Oliver from a beatdown. Wren steps around Hazel and comes to my side, where I welcome her with an arm around her shoulders. I take her hand, press a soft kiss to her red knuckles, and whisper, “You okay?”
My eyes plumb deep into hers, asking if I can beat this guy up for her.
“I’m okay. He’s not worth it,” she tells me. I’m disappointed I can’t unleash on Oliver, teach him a lesson about not taking a no the first time. It’s maybe a bit hypocritical considering the lengths I went to for Wren. But I held myself back, letting her have space until she came to me. I didn’t force my way into her life, even though it damn near killed me.
“Assault, you say?” Hazel echoes. “Anyone see an assault?”
Avery raises her hand, and though her voice is quiet, she’s sure. “I did.” Oliver’s smug grin is blood tinged until she adds, “I saw him sexually assault Wren and her defend herself.”
“What? No!” he shouts, the grin falling as he looks around.
“Me too,” someone else says.
“Yep, that’s what I saw.”
There are several nods, too, and Oliver realizes that despite his fancy clothes, fancy law degree, and fancy entitlement, he’s not going to win this one. Not in our town and not with our Wren.
“Maybe we should call the police,” he suggests snidely.
There’s a booming laugh from a few tables away, and the crowd parts, revealing Robbie. “I’m already here, and that’s what I saw too.”
Charlene is at Officer Milson’s side, and I’m betting he was deep in conversation with her when things went down and didn’t see a thing. But he’s got Wren’s back.
We all do.
“You wanna press charges, Wren?” Robbie asks conversationally. “I think Judge Hobner’s on call for criminal court overnight, and he’s three sheets to the wind over there after that stunt you pulled today, so it’ll be tomorrow morning before I can get your boy arraigned. A night in the clink might do him good.”
Oliver spits a bloody bit of saliva to the floor at Hazel’s feet, and there’s a gasp of horror. Oliver doesn’t know what the hell he’s done. Wren’s one thing, my sister’s another. And then I’m the one holding her back. “You’re not going to jail tonight, Hazel. He ain’t worth it.”
“Wren is,” Hazel argues. She’s not wrong, that’s for sure. But Wren has it under control.
She bends down and swipes her red-nailed fingers through the grossness on the floor and then walks up to Oliver. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done to let her step closer to that asshole again, but I wanna see what she’s gonna do as much as everyone else.
And this tiny spitfire of a woman, who oozes brains and beauty, pats Oliver’s cheek with his own spit. Hard. “You forgot something on your way out,” she tells him, her entire demeanor gone dark and deadly. “So . . . bye.”
He flinches, thinking she’s going to do more, so when her hand drops and her lips quirk up in triumph, he’s embarrassed again. “You people are fucking crazy,” he tells the room at large.
As he’s nearly running for the door with his tail between his legs, Tayvious calls out, “Hey, I made you a real special Fat Pussy. Did you want it to go?”
We laugh. Nobody wants one of those special burgers. Tayvious wouldn’t disrespect his own food by spitting in it, but there’s no telling what he did do to it.
It breaks the mood, and with Oliver gone, everyone starts talking about Wren. “I thought for sure it was gonna be Jesse who punched that guy.”
“Me too. Here ya go.”
Money’s being exchanged all across the room, apparently most folks losing their bet on me losing my cool over Wren and beating up Oliver.
I escort her back to the table, keeping her tucked in at my side like someone else might have a go at her too. Charlene brings a whole bottle of hand sanitizer and a pitcher of ice water. “For your hand,” she tells Wren, sounding experienced with bar brawls. “No telling what a slimeball like that has, and you don’t want to get an infection.”
“Thanks,” she tells Charlene, already swishing the lube-like fluid over her hands. To Wyatt, she says, “And thank you for teaching me to throw a solid punch.”
He tries to play it off with a casual shrug, but looks pretty pleased with himself. “That’s what brothers are for. Just remind me not to piss you off.”