Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“You sure about that?” I asked, twisting my fingers. It had to be killing him, but he didn’t blink.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure.”
In an instant, he’d somehow shoved his arm between us, then twisted around. I flew toward the floor and would’ve hit it, except he caught me, literally hoisting me over his shoulder like a firefighter.
“Let me go, you fucking bastard!” I shrieked, trying to figure out how I’d gone from literally having him by the balls to…this. I started hitting his back and kicking, then tried to lift my entire body up.
That got me a smack on the ass, which I did not find amusing.
Eli took three steps, then flopped me down onto the couch. A second later, he was on top of me, thrusting his knee between mine. My arms were splayed out above my head, held down firmly by his hands. His hips pinned mine. I saw a little trickle of blood coming from his lip. My tongue darted out, and I tasted copper on mine.
We settled into glaring at each other, trying to catch our breaths. Then he spoke.
“You are a fucking bitch, Peaches Taylor.”
“You better believe it,” I replied, narrowing my eyes. “You think you’ve won—”
“I have won.”
“But I’ll find a way to make your life a living hell,” I continued, ignoring his declaration. Eli snorted.
“You’ve been making my life hell since I was seven years old. That has to change if you want to keep working here.”
“What makes you think I’d work for you?” I snapped.
“You love it,” he snapped back. “And you’re good at it,” he added, clearly reluctant to admit the truth.
But he was right. I really was good at running the bar. Way better than Gus had ever been. We had a whole new class of customers. Dancing on the weekends… I’d changed the entire model, and it showed.
“Damned right, I’m good at it. That’s why I should be buying the bar right now. Not you.”
“So we both know that you’re good at managing the place,” he continued, ignoring my other statement. “And we both know that I’ve been gone a long time. Gus can help me during the transition, but if I really want this place to succeed, I need you here. I want you to manage the place. Officially. You’re already doing all the work. Might as well have the title and authority.”
My jaw dropped. “Do you seriously think that you can just sweet-talk me—?”
“Shut the fuck up, Peaches!” he snapped. It startled both of us. I was the one who blew up. Not him.
“Just shut the fuck up,” he repeated. “For once. Listen to me, okay?”
“So you can feed me some line of bullshit about needing me?” I asked, suddenly tired. “You don’t need me, Eli. You’ve never needed me. All you need is your fucking club.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I closed my eyes, wishing I’d been smart enough to walk out when Gus told me the news. That was my big flaw, I realized. I didn’t know when to let go. Never had… “It doesn’t matter.”
“The fuck it doesn’t,” he said, giving my hands a jerk. His hips ground into mine, and I felt my legs spreading for him, even as I hated him. “Tell me what you meant.”
Fuck it.
“None of you let me talk to the cops after they arrested you,” I said. “I was there, Eli. With you. I don’t know who really killed that guy, but it wasn’t you. You had an alibi. You were with me. Hell, you were almost in me.”
His cock hardened as I said the words, and without thinking, I circled my pelvis into his. We were both thinking about that night now, and it hurt. “After all those years of fighting, that night we were together. And then you let them take you away. I could’ve saved you from that, but you wouldn’t let me. Why?”
My jeans were soft, and I felt every seam and bump inside his as he slowly rocked against me. He didn’t say anything for long seconds, and I felt the waves of need building in me even as my frustration grew.
“I couldn’t,” he finally replied. “I just couldn’t, okay?”
“Why not?” I asked, knowing I was giving myself away, and not caring. I’d spent the last five years wondering why a man would choose prison… A man with an alibi. Someone who’d been all but fucking me while the crime was committed.
The silence grew painful as we stared at each other, my eyes pleading with his for answers.
“I can’t tell you,” he whispered.
That’s what he’d said then, too.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“Let. Me. Go,” I said again, my voice harder. “I see how it is… I give up. You hear that? I. Give. Up. You win, Eli. You get the bar. You get to keep your secrets. But you don’t get to fuck me, and you don’t get to serve me bullshit and expect me to thank you with a smile. Let me up. I’m leaving.”