Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Two guys look completely out of place. Maybe it’s their brand-new clothes. Most of the shirts around here are worn, including mine, worked in and washed a bunch of times until they’re a little faded. The same with the jeans.
These two could’ve just come from the store and changed into their new clothes at a rest stop. They might as well still have tags hanging from them. Their boots are brand new and unscuffed. They’re in their early thirties, maybe, both lean and well-groomed.
And they, like me, are watching. They’re sitting facing each other in a booth, but they’re not talking. Their eyes are moving over the room like a pair of hawks circling the sky. They’re listening hard, too. Listening for what? Information they can take back to their boss?
A loud, drunken voice drives its way into my awareness. “Yo, Bishop!”
Fuck me.
I vaguely recognize the asshole shouting at me from the opposite end of the bar, lifting a hand in case I can’t see him. “Is it true? Did Roman fuck Emma Porter to make you?”
I can honestly say I brought this on myself. And now I have the newcomers’ attention. All it took was hearing Emma’s name. I can feel their eyes boring through me, but they’re hardly the only ones. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of the betting going on by the dartboard has to do with me now. Seeing how much shit I can take before I explode.
“I guess his pullout game was weak,” I call out. There’s a lot of surprised laughter after that, and I shrug, laughing along with them. So that’s what it’s like to defuse the situation instead of breaking a beer bottle over some loudmouth’s head. Interesting.
I go back to my drink, staring into the glass, when somebody in a very new flannel shirt steps up to the bar a few stools down. A ripple of anticipation runs through me, sharpening my senses. What’s he going to do?
“Another two pints,” he tells Rick. I hope he doesn’t do private investigating for a living, because he sucks ass at it. There is nothing casual about the way he’s standing there, sizing me up, glancing at me like he wants to say something. I can almost taste his hesitation over the smooth whiskey sliding down my throat.
Our eyes meet in the mirror spanning the length of the bar. I lift my chin. He does the same. Will he say something, or is he content to admire me?
I don’t get an answer before Rick brings him the pints and he pays, then takes the glasses back to his table. “I’ll take another when you get a chance,” I murmur, sliding the glass to Rick, watching in the mirror. “You know those two guys?”
He shakes his head. “Never saw them before tonight, but you always get guys like that. Just passing through.”
I’m sure they are. My instincts are screaming. “Did they tell you anything about themselves?”
I don’t like the way he looks at me. Like he’s trying to figure out if he should tell me or not. Dickface. “Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t.”
Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going to impale him on one of the tap pulls if this keeps up. “And if they did?” This is not the night to fuck with me. It’s never a good night to fuck with me, but especially not tonight.
“From out of town. Utah.” He’s still giving me that wary stare as he pours another whiskey. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing. They stick out, that’s all.”
“Well, they’re leaving now.” He sounds relieved. I guess he’s afraid I’ll bring law enforcement to his door once again. The chance is now dwindling.
Sure enough, I watch in the mirror as they get up, even though both of their glasses are only a quarter empty. Did they figure they have something to report to their boss? Or have they given up for the night because there isn’t a terrified girl around here for them to fuck with? How loud would they scream once I got my hands on them?
I need to play it smart. See what they’re really in town to do. If they disappear, Lowry will know something is up, and next time he’ll send a small army to do the dirty work he doesn’t have the stomach for.
I’m smirking as I sip my fresh whiskey. Sawyer would be so proud of me, thinking before I act for once.
I catch another eye in the mirror, someone who looks familiar... Buck, the man who used to work at the Porter ranch. Didn’t I see him in town talking to Allie after everything with Jackson, too?
I give him a nod and sip my whiskey. He only stares back a moment, then turns away.
Fucking weird. I shake my head and chuckle to myself. There’s been nothing but weird lately.