Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Jarod shut the till and paused, leaning down to lift up a pink manila folder. Pink? He flipped open the top and red filled his face, turning his ears crimson. His head jerked up.
Awareness pricked through Christian, and he placed his mug on the table.
Amka returned behind the bar and reached for a beer glass.
Jarod pivoted on her, looming over her. Her head snapped up, and fire lit her eyes.
Christian stiffened.
“What are these?” Jarod snapped, loud enough to reach across the room.
The influencers all paused, turning to watch.
Amka let out a sharp breath. Her hands framed her waist, shoulders squared. “That’s not your business.” She didn’t lower her voice, either.
Jarod’s jaw clenched. He grabbed her wrist, turning it with enough force that the beer glass in her other hand rattled against the counter.
She placed it gently on the bar and then punched him in the gut. Jarod doubled over with a muffled oof. Shock filled Amka’s eyes, and she looked down at her fist as if surprised it belonged to her.
Christian stood, muscles coiling. He made it across the bar in a heartbeat. “Let go of her wrist before I break yours and shove it down your fucking throat.”
Jarod released her and stepped away, his mouth open in a quiet snarl. “Mind your fucking business.”
“Problem?” Dutch stepped up behind Christian.
“No.” Jarod said, looking down at Amka. “We need to talk.”
Dutch cleared his throat. “I’m going to ask before the other troopers do. That was a battery. Mr. Teller? Would you like to press charges against this petite and rather well-loved bartender for punching you?”
Jarod ground his teeth together. “Of course not. Amka, let’s go talk.”
She nodded.
“Not a chance,” Christian snarled.
Jarod’s chin lowered, his brown eyes blazing. “She’s my fiancée, asshole.”
Christian settled. He went cold. “She ain’t wearing your ring, now is she?”
Amka lifted a hand. “Daisy? Would you cover the tavern for a moment? If you need help, drag Nixi from her buddies over there. Jarod, let’s talk in the back room.” She’d gone pale, but her chin didn’t waver.
Triumph flashed in Jarod’s eyes. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
Amka’s gaze met Christian’s. “It’s okay, C. I’m fine.”
Something ugly dropped into his gut. Something dark and churning. “If you need help, call out. I’ll be sitting right here at the bar. Teller, if you touch her, they’ll never find your body.”
Amka followed Jarod into the back room, a place she usually found comfort. It had one comfy bed, a nice bathroom, and a bin filled with lost-and-found clothes that someone always needed. She shut the door behind them with more force than necessary and leaned back against it like she might hold the tension in the room at bay with her spine.
Jarod spun to face her, his face dark with fury. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He lifted the pink manila folder in his hand. “You’ve locked up the equity in the bar and your house. All of it. With the bank.”
“I know,” she said flatly. “I’m investing in a business with Ace.”
Jarod’s nostrils flared. “The hell you are. I need that money. Unless you want that video to go live.”
Her stomach dropped, but she didn’t move. “I am so tired of you. Would you really send poor Flossy to prison?”
He sneered. “You think I won’t? Test me.”
Amka’s pulse roared in her ears. Her entire life narrowed to that tiny room, his smug face, and the fury burning through her veins. She’d felt strong earlier, felt good by signing those papers, making a plan. But Jarod always knew how to drag her back down. “You’re pathetic.”
He grabbed her arm, fingers tight. “We’re still getting married. You keep pretending like you have a choice.”
Her hand twitched, ready to slap him. The urge to call out, to scream for help, pulsed behind her tongue. But then she thought of Christian and how close he'd been to putting Jarod through a wall a minute ago. The fact that he’d offered to use his skills, whatever they were, in a way she couldn’t live with. “We are not getting married. That wasn’t the deal.”
“Deals change.” Jarod leaned in. “Don’t forget or get any ideas about your stalker out there taking me out. If anything ever happens to me, that video goes live. I’ve got it with exactly the right person on standby.”
The words hit like ice water down her back. She didn’t flinch—wouldn’t give him the satisfaction—but her spine locked up. Her molars ached from how tight she clenched her jaw. “Who has it?”
“You’ll never know. Trust me.”
Her mind spun. “What if we make a deal?”
That stopped him, just for a second. His eyebrows rose. Her voice was too steady, maybe, or maybe he didn’t expect her to push back at all.
“I’ve got everything tied up now,” she went on, heartbeat pulsing hard behind her eyes, “but once I get the buildings up, I’ll be making a profit. I could lend you money for the motel.”