Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Some of them did the behind-the-screen thing, some of them did their thing right out in the open.
He didn’t watch. He wasn’t there for material to have a yank later.
But he was beginning to understand the difference between life and performance.
This was their space, and for some of them, they needed it safe.
Out there, it was a job for bills only.
Other than that, Mo hadn’t bothered to take much else in because he didn’t give a shit what a stripper’s dressing room looked like.
He didn’t take anything in then because Lottie was on him.
He automatically flexed his body solid when she put her little hands into his chest and shoved with all her might.
He didn’t move an inch.
Before he could ask what the fuck, she was shouting at him.
“Where were you?”
Ah, hell.
He opened his mouth to say something, but she kept shouting.
“I did a turn, looked for you, and you weren’t there!”
Right.
He could smell she was scared.
But now she was showing it.
Big mistake.
He never should have done that to her.
She should not be feeling what she was feeling.
Most of that was not on him.
But he shouldn’t have left her.
No way.
And that was absolutely on him.
The worst part about it, he didn’t feel bad because he freaked her, and he shouldn’t have.
He felt bad because he freaked Lottie, and he didn’t want her to feel that, or more of it.
He’d had so many bodyguard jobs, he couldn’t count them.
He already knew this one was different. But the feeling he was feeling right then knowing he did something to spike her fear, he now knew this one was going to be even more of a challenge than he thought.
“Hawk needed to talk to me,” he told her. “Jorge was on you. Other side of the stage.”
“Could Hawk maybe talk to you after you tell me you have to take off so Hawk can talk to you?” she asked.
“Next time, we’ll do that,” he muttered.
“Jesus!” she yelled.
Then she did it.
Fuck him, his worst fear (for now).
She turned stiltedly, raked a hand through her hair, looked at the floor, started pacing with agitation, and chanted in a whisper, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”
“Lottie.”
She had her back to him, but she lifted an arm his way, straight out, palm up, and ordered, “Give me a sec. I’ll get it together.”
She should come apart. Sometimes people needed to do that so they could put it back together stronger.
But fuck him, his hands actually itched to reach out and pull her to him so she could feel he was a big guy, strong, solid, and he had her.
He couldn’t do that, so he did the only thing he could.
“You know it’s okay to be freaked by this guy,” he educated her. “He’s a freak.”
“I don’t get freaked easily,” she returned.
He could sense that about her.
But this was new territory for her.
Not for him. For Hawk. Jorge. Probably even Smithie.
Fanatics were the worst. It didn’t matter if they were that about the Broncos or their God who would not be down in any way with their behavior, they’d just convinced themselves they were doing righteous work.
If there wasn’t more meaning to your life than football or acting out your twisted version of what you thought God wanted you to do, you had a serious problem.
She turned to him, hands now to the belt on her robe, tugging it tighter.
But Mo wasn’t watching her hands.
He was staring at her face.
And he arrested.
Nope.
This was his worst fear.
For always.
Terror was stark in her expression, big hazel eyes filled with tears.
“My sister covered me with her body,” she said.
That wasn’t what he expected to hear.
“What?” he asked.
“Jet, when we were shot at, or in the room where people were shooting at each other, my sister was there too. And when the bullets were flying, she covered me with her body,” she explained.
Mo needed a minute.
She was in a room with people shooting at each other and her sister had to cover her with her body?
“Jet and Mom…Jet and Mom…” A fat tear fell from her eye. “Jet and Mom would lose their minds if they knew this was happening. And Mom barely survived her first stroke.”
“When were you shot at?”
It was him that asked the question, but he didn’t recognize his own voice. It sounded low and gritty and like it crawled up his throat straight from the acid in his gut.
“My dad was a gambler. He’s recovering. And my sister had made some dude unhappy by jumping him at an Einstein’s. We went to confront Dad gambling and…”
She kept talking but it was then Mo remembered her sister was a Rock Chick.
He needed to hear no more.
“They don’t need to know,” he said over her story.
Her eyes got big. “Of course they don’t need to know! They can never know! Jet’ll tell Eddie. Eddie will tell Lee. Then that whole crew will lay waste to Denver.”