Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 44899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
I pulled the note out again, reading it for the third time.
You almost made me break my rule about saying goodbye.
Almost. But not quite. I wondered what it would have taken to push her over that edge. What I could have said or done differently.
I remained seated, breathing in the last traces of her presence. One night shouldn’t have this kind of hold on me. One woman shouldn’t occupy this much space in my head after such a brief encounter. Yet here I was, clutching a note like it was a lifeline, reluctant to leave the last place I’d seen her.
I shifted to prop myself up on one elbow. Somehow, my wallet had ended up beside the bed and I leaned over to pick it up. I glanced inside curiously, mainly to see if she’d taken cash. She hadn’t. I folded the note carefully and slipped it into my wallet. I’d leave, but I’d take this small piece of her with me. And maybe, if I was lucky, our paths would cross again. Nashville wasn’t that big, after all. And she’d left enough of an impression at Throttle I was sure word of the little hellion would spread through the city’s nightlife.
I’d give myself a week, maybe two. If nothing turned up by then, I’d let it go. Move on. The lie tasted bitter even as I thought it. Besides, I already knew the truth. Darby had gotten under my skin in a way no one ever had before, and I wasn’t going to rest until I found her again. Even if it was just to ask why she’d left without saying goodbye.
* * *
The whiskey in my glass caught the red neon glow from the Throttle sign, turning the amber liquid into something that looked like blood. I’d come back to the bar the next night. And the night after. I’d been sitting in the same corner at the end of the bar, at the same time, nursing the same Goddamned brand of whiskey, watching the same fucking door for seven straight fucking nights. The rational part of my brain knew she wasn’t coming back. Darby didn’t strike me as the type to revisit old haunts or retrace her steps. But rationality had taken a back seat to something more primitive, more persistent. A hunger I had no hope of satisfying until I saw her again. Fuck. Maybe not even then.
Throttle buzzed with its usual weeknight energy. Bikers hunched over pool tables in the back, the crack of balls punctuating bursts of rough laughter. A haze of cigarette smoke hung beneath the low ceiling, swirling in lazy patterns whenever the front door opened to admit another patron.
Mike, the bartender, had stopped asking what I wanted after the third night. Now he just nodded when I walked in and had my double Jack ready by the time I reached my corner of the bar.
I took another slow sip, letting the burn travel down my throat. My gaze never strayed from the main entrance. Because I knew Darby would want to make a memorable entrance if she came back.
Pathetic. I knew it but couldn’t seem to stop myself.
The chair next to me creaked as someone slid into it. I looked up, irritated at the intrusion, then relaxed slightly when I recognized Knight. Not a friend exactly, I didn’t have many of those, but a brother in Kiss of Death.
“Sully,” he said, his voice soft despite his appearance. Knight was a contradiction, soft spoken and almost gentle in manner, but with a face and body that screamed danger. Tattoos covered nearly every visible inch of skin, including what looked like ink in the whites of his eyes, giving him an eerie, otherworldly appearance. His beard and shaggy hair completed the intimidating picture, but his voice could put a child to sleep or talk a jumper off a ledge.
“Knight,” I acknowledged, raising my glass slightly before taking another sip.
He signaled to Mike, who brought over a beer without Knight having to specify. “You’re hunting someone,” Knight finally said. Not a question. A statement of fact delivered with quiet certainty.
I could have denied it. Could have claimed I was just enjoying the ambiance of this shithole bar every night for a week straight. But what would be the point? Knight wasn’t just another brother in the club. He was our intelligence officer. Before prison, he’d been some kind of computer genius. Afterward, he’d turned those skills to the club’s benefit.
“Maybe,” I admitted, rolling my glass between my palms.
“Woman?” he asked, that perceptive gaze missing nothing.
I nodded once.
“Must be special. Never seen you like this before.”
I barked out a laugh that held no humor. “Just met her the one time. Right here, about a week ago.”
Knight took a pull from his beer, wiping foam from his beard with the back of his hand. “Yet here you are. Every night. Watching that door like your life depends on it.”