Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Heaven that lasts as long as the few seconds it takes for a stranger to step up next to me and invade my personal space. “Oh. Hey. I know you,” he says, wearing a crooked grin.
I don’t know him… or do I? He kind of seems familiar, but then he has sort of a generic look to him, too. Tall-ish, thin-ish, with a sort of angular face and a nose that looks like it was probably broken and poorly set. There’s what looks like a fresh scar cutting through his left eyebrow, like he got it pretty recently.
And then it clicks. I can almost hear the sound in my head as I stare up at him. “Oh,” I whisper. It’s him. From the parking lot. What did Preston call him? Brody.
For one brief, very vivid moment, I see myself throwing my drink at him. I’ve never done anything like that before—not even close. I’m not that person. Maybe in my own head, it’s who I wish I could be sometimes, but I doubt I could ever really get up the courage.
Plus, let’s be honest. I paid six bucks for this. I would like to drink it.
Every part of my body goes stiff all at once while I stare at him, silent. He’s an abuser. At least, that’s what Preston says. Maybe I shouldn’t believe him. Okay, I definitely shouldn’t believe him, at least not without proof or something. But exactly what kind of proof could I hope for in this situation? I mean, short of finding the sister who was supposedly beaten up by him.
His face scrunches up like he’s confused while dark, beady eyes search my face. “You all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He reaches out to touch my arm, but I pull away without thinking. His brows draw together—just for a second, just long enough for me to notice—before his forehead smooths out again. “You looked a little unsteady there,” he explains. “You had me worried.”
“I’m fine, thank you.” This is too bizarre. I’m in a trance or something. I’m too overwhelmed. That’s the problem, and now my heart is pounding hard enough to distract me, the sound echoing in my ears and blending with the chatter going on all around us. Cheerful coffee shop chatter. Nothing unusual. Nobody is aware of the little drama unfolding nearby.
“This is really lucky for me,” he says, almost whispering. “I was hoping I could find you somehow.”
“You wanted to find me? Why?”
And why am I even engaging with him? I don’t owe him anything.
“Well, after what happened… and you saw what happened,” he adds, “I’ve been thinking about pressing charges. I mean, you see this? Just one thing I had to pay to get fixed.” He touches a finger to the scar I noticed.
Isn’t it funny? If I never saw Preston today, and he never gave me his version of events, how would I react to Brody right now? Considering everything the twins have done to me so far, I would probably offer any help I could give. Whatever it takes, so long as the two of them get what’s coming.
This is different. I have doubts now. No, it’s still not cool for the two of them to beat him up like they did.
They should have taken him on one at a time. Because if he did hurt their sister, if she ended up in the ER because of him, I can understand why they would kick the crap out of him.
But the word if is the big word here, isn’t it? And I still have doubts.
And this is not the place to voice those doubts, but I might not get this chance again. “What you’re saying is, you want to know if I will be a witness for you? If you decide to press charges?”
“Yeah. That’s it.” He wears a funny expression, like he’s not sure if he should laugh. “Would you do that? You were there. You saw. I had no chance of defending myself.”
The intensity in his voice gives me an uncomfortable feeling inside. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, either. His eyes boring holes into me, his body blocking my view of most of the café. He’s a pretty big guy—didn’t Preston point that out earlier? And now he’s standing in front of me, and I know what he wants to hear. I’m just not sure I can say it.
It’s obvious he’s waiting to hear something, tensed, ready to spring. Or is that just the way I’m seeing him, thanks to the way Preston described him? “I’m going to have to think about it,” I whisper. The ice is rattling in my cup. The twins have intimidated me before, but this guy? There’s something scary about him.
“Give me your number, anyway.” For the second time today, I’m backed into a corner. Why won’t somebody notice and help me? Then again, nobody’s paying attention. We could just be having a conversation, maybe flirting. “I can give it to my lawyer.”