Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
The kids were all doing well, for the most part. Good grades, sports, and after school jobs. Her sister had recently won a scholarship and started college just a few months before. But Colleen hadn’t had her chance yet.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t trying.
She was taking college courses at night. Just one class a semester. But with her work schedule and responsibilities, it was a wonder she could do even that.
Somehow, Trace had found her high school guidance counselor’s notes on her. Unsurprisingly, her aptitude scores were off the chart. The girl was smart as a whip. She was not on social media. She had not had a single boyfriend, hobby, or moment of free time since she was twelve years old.
The only thing close to recreation in her life was her participation in self-defense classes. There was a darker story there. I could sense it. But when I turned the page, the rest of the file was empty.
I leaned back in my seat.
“You were both right. I don’t like it. But . . .”
“It gives you hope.”
I nodded. This beautiful girl needed backup. She needed someone to help her. To shoulder the burden. To soften her.
To love her.
She needed me. I could see it plain as day. I just had to make sure she knew it, too.
And I had to fix my life to make sure I was good enough for her. Or if not good enough, at least not dangerous to her. I had to clear my name.
“I need something. A new identity.”
“Yeah, you fucking do,” Vice said with a laugh. That fucker thought everything was funny. He was almost as big a pain in the ass as Lucky from the Devil’s Riders down the coast. Trace and Cain, however, looked serious.
“You need to go back and clear your name. That’s what this girl deserves,” Cain said.
“No way,” Trace said. “He’ll get nabbed. I saw the file.”
“Humph,” Cain said, his eyes telling me to man up. I had sworn I would never go back, never get caught up in the toxic quagmire that pitted neighbor versus neighbor based on orange and green. That turned my brother, school chums, and cousins into criminals. Everyone was sour down there. Everything.
Wildflowers didn’t grow in the cracks on the streets of Dublin anymore.
My family were a bunch of reckless, hot-headed hoodlums. Criminals.
The same criminals who had let me take the fall for their crimes and were roaming around free while I was exiled halfway across the world.
All for trying to stop them from doing something so dangerous and inconceivable that it still boggled my mind to this day.
“She already knows I’m a bartender,” I said instead of voicing the turmoil inside me. The bitterness. The regret. "I told her."
“So fucking what? You are the best damned bartender I’ve ever met. Let her know you are a bartender with goals. I know you can fix anything with gears and wheels. Never mind the woodcarving you’ve done.”
“He’s right, man. You’re a true artist.”
“You’ve been laying low for other reasons, right?” Cain finally said.
“Right.”
“So, stop laying low. It’s time for an upgrade. And you’re going to have to lay a trap,” Trace said. And I knew he was right.
I had to be smart about getting Colleen to be mine. I had to be smarter than I’d ever been before. I knew firsthand that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.
“Where should we start?”
Chapter Two
Colleen
“Can we stay a little longer? Please?” Lana asked, a plaintive look on her sweet face. She didn’t ask for much. I was tempted to say yes.
“Ice cream!” Jessie screamed as a vendor rolled his cart by the playground, his cherubic blond curls a stark contrast to the utter greed in his bright blue eyes.
I sighed, closing my textbook. It was a beautiful summer day. The kind most people would be enjoying. But not me. I was annoyed with myself and worried about all the fifty balls I had in the air. I had tried and failed to study. My leg was paining me, and it was time to head home and make supper. I cursed myself for not being able to focus on anything. Not since that night.
Not since that insanely good-looking man had come out of nowhere and rescued me.
I hated that I had needed his help. I hated that I couldn’t protect myself. I hated feeling weak. And I had no time for gorgeous men who acted like white knights. I didn’t believe in fairy tales. I never had.
But his eyes . . . the soft green and grey of them . . . his handsome face and strong body . . . his entire demeanor had made me want the kind of things that were dangerous for someone like me to even think about.
Romance. Kissing. White picket fences.