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)
“Oh, fuck you, Holden Hardass.” She swiped a hand down her face, smearing her overdone makeup in the rain with her tears. “Why are you like this?”
“Why? Because someone has to look after you. We both know Mr. Blackthorn’s too old to catch you falling out of trees.”
“Oh my God, you’re ridiculous. I fell because you startled me! I’m not your freaking prisoner.”
“Choose your words very carefully.” I folded my arms. “I don’t want to explain the part where you were caught sneaking out to meet a boy who wouldn’t even stand up for you. Or the part where you could’ve wound up paralyzed. Your grandfather thinks you’re smarter than that. Don’t prove him wrong.”
Her cheeks flared.
To her credit, she had the good grace to feel shame.
“That’s… that’s not your decision. You know what? Don’t bother. I’ll tell him myself.”
“Will you?” I quirked an eyebrow. “And for the record, while you’re here and I’m assigned to ensure your well-being, it absolutely is my decision.”
“Whatever, limpdick straight-edge pony prick. You ruin everything.” The tears came hot and heavy, searing down her cheeks, melting into the rain.
“Limp dicks are rarely straight,” I growled, intensifying my stare, unmoving.
Bad move, giving in to her insults, perhaps, but I’m only human.
And this is the usual hell cycle.
Little Cleo, wanting to make a childish decision she’ll regret, and I have to stop her to keep getting paid.
Rinse, repeat, and rip my hair out every time.
“Get moving. Ten more seconds, and I’m waking up your grandfather.” I fished my phone from my pocket, holding it up.
“You wouldn’t.” She gasps.
“Try me.” I spread my hands.
“Oh my God.” With one more indignant head shake, she stormed back to the house. “You are the worst, Holden Verity.”
That part didn’t bother me. I’ve heard far worse.
And whether we get along or not, it was irrelevant to my job. Cleo crafting a custom Holden voodoo doll didn’t matter if it kept her in one piece.
What I didn’t expect was the note she left a few days later, before returning to Boston.
The letter came complete with a sketch she’d drawn of me, looking like one of those exaggerated miniature anime characters. I’ve seen them before from Kit’s cartoons.
I looked surly and exasperated, stormy and scowly and fucking ridiculous.
Holden Hardass, she’d scrawled in her girly handwriting. She drew little hearts above her I’s.
The words underneath were more surprising.
Holden, you suck. You always will.
But you suck just a nano-dick less for stopping me from sneaking out with Jace. I hate to admit you saved me some trouble.
He ghosted me after that night. He hooked up with Patti, that goth chick Gramps used to buy Girl Scout cookies from, right after he got away.
He likes to run his mouth too. I guess you scared him bad enough. He’s not running around Portland, telling everyone we nearly hooked up.
Thanks for that. And thanks for stopping me from sleeping with him because I hear he’s pretty shit in bed.
But yeah. You are still the biggest, grumpiest asshole in the known universe.
If you ever have kids, I pray for them.
Still your favorite headache,
Nile Queen
That’s what she signed at the bottom.
I still have it to this day, tucked away in my office drawer along with a few photos with the old man and the other kids. I was usually the man behind the camera, taking those pics.
Now, as I reach over to gently wake her up and get one eye cracked and gleaming hellfire for my trouble, I almost smile.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
A large part of my career was keeping Cleo Blackthorn from screwing up her life before it got off the ground.
There’s a strange, familiar comfort in that.
As I pass her a coffee before we land, the rest feels a little less daunting.
7
PROMISES IN GOLD (CLEO)
Ijerk awake in… the back of a car?
Huh? Buildings blur by the tinted windows. The seat belt digs into the side of my neck. Everything smells new-car clean.
Beside me, Holden sits in the driver’s seat, both hands on the wheel in the ten and two position.
Obviously. The man never half-asses anything if there’s a rule involved.
I can’t believe I dozed off again.
I stretch, rolling out my shoulders and hunching my back until my spine pops. Ouch.
But I needed another nap, and what else was there to do on the long ride from the airport through this dense city traffic?
Holden’s eyes snap to me, golden brown in the morning light.
He has the visor down to protect him from the sun, a single streak of light falling over him—the only point of softness in a face that’s as hard as granite. His hair almost shines black in the orange light. His cheekbones look like they’d cut me.
Maybe that nap did me a little too much good.
He doesn’t smile—he’s allergic—but I think his expression lightens ever so slightly.