Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“My ‘cargo.’ You make it sound like I’ve inherited a nuclear warhead.” I roll my eyes and try not to laugh.
He also makes it sound like we’ll be dodging mafia speedboats. Danger or not, it can’t be that ridiculous.
“But what else is new?” I sigh softly. “We’ve been there before. Like when I was sixteen and you welded the door to Leonidas’ wine cellar shut.”
No amusement in his deep, bearish brown eyes. They just narrow like a hunting hawk.
“You bet. It was my pleasure. It would’ve been my ass if I let a minor get blackout drunk on my watch.”
“It was none of your business.”
“It was my business when Leonidas asked me to keep you out of trouble.”
Out of trouble.
I was sixteen, and maybe I shouldn’t have been stealing PopPop’s wine, but hell, it’s not the end of the world. Dad always let me have a glass or two at home.
Then again… Dad and his attitude toward drinking makes my stomach twist. In hindsight, it’s a small miracle I didn’t wind up with his problems.
“It wasn’t the drinking,” I snapped. “You invaded my privacy. You had no right. You wouldn’t even let me in when Gramps said I could hang out there and draw.”
“I had every right. That’s why I left you an empty bottle on the table to sketch.” He sounds almost infuriatingly calm, and the judgment in his voice fuels my irritation.
“Well, I’m not little Nile anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed.” I straighten up, swinging my legs to the floor. “If we’re going to do this, you can’t treat me like a kid.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning on stealing more wine? It won’t be here. The cellar was cleared out months ago.”
“Jesus, no! That’s not the point.”
“Then I can trust you’ve grown up, Nile Queen?”
My eyes are razors.
Holy hell, I can’t believe he has the balls. It’s like he wants me to revert to that irrational, confused brat.
But I’m not sixteen anymore.
I’m not brimming with emotions and an eating disorder, a dead mom, an absentee father, and hormones that could ruin me.
“That depends,” I snap, folding my arms right back at him. Arguing with this asshat feels oddly comforting. A little familiarity among the weirdness. “Are you going to weld the door to the cellar shut?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Miss Blackthorn, but you’re no longer underage.” He doesn’t smirk, but his lip twists. “Unless you’re telling me I should? I sincerely hope you didn’t fall into the same pit Ethan did.”
Alcoholism.
The words cut deep. He probably doesn’t even know he’s done it, pressing on a bruise he didn’t know I had.
For fuck’s sake, no. I don’t have a drinking problem.
And I like to think I can handle my alcohol. I know when enough is enough and when to stop. I don’t feel the need to run to the bottle to escape bad days.
But Dad?
Yeah, maybe I don’t have a drinking problem, but I sure as hell know someone who does. I hate that even now, it’s being thrown in my face. A reminder that I’ll never outrun my dad’s own demons.
“I didn’t think so,” he says quietly.
“No, you don’t think much. Not unless you’re following orders. We agree on that.”
He gives me a classic Dad look and shakes his head.
Infuriating.
“What, are you mad I can call you out and get away with it now? Are you pissed I figured out you’re not a mind reader?”
“Don’t need to be.” He leans one hip against the table, every motion deliberate, and I can’t help the way my gaze skips over him.
This guy is stacked.
A wall of muscle. Neck like a bull. His face never expresses much emotion beyond mildly annoyed.
“So tell me,” he says, eyes fixed on me. “Are you older and wiser? Because if you are, we’ll have no problem. We just might get through this without killing each other.”
I laugh bitterly. “Oh, we will have problems.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks.
If he could, I don’t doubt for a second that he’d throw me over his shoulder and lock me away in my bedroom like he did when I’d try to sneak out past my bedtime.
So annoying, his arrogance.
Thinking he still knows what’s best when he doesn’t know me at all.
“Right, so now that we’ve established I’m no longer a minor,” I say, putting on my big girl hat. “You can cool it with the stink eye, my man. I’m not going to pawn the egg off on some dumb boy or replace your boring chicken salad wrap with spicy tuna again.”
“You used a habanero and left the seeds in,” he growls. “I’m from Maine, not New Mexico. Do not, under any circumstances, fuck with my food again, Nile.”
It’s insanely hard not to laugh, remembering his face when he bit into that concoction and spat it out. Totally worth Gramps grounding me for two days.