Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“I don’t think he should either,” Josie agrees. “Though, I have a hard time believing a judge is going to side with Thomas in a case like this. Even Pete said the assault charges would end up being dropped on account of self-defense, and the prosecutor plans to use him as a witness in court.”
In court. If word spread that Thomas King was in custody and awaiting trial for domestic violence, Red Bridge would be covered in journalists. The King family owns one of the biggest investment firms in the country. His father is one of the most popular voices when it comes to the stock market. He has ties to the SEC and federal commissions, and Thomas has been following in his footsteps since before he could walk. There’s no way a court case would occur without stirring up a scary amount of media. Everyone knows them.
My stomach roils again, but this time, it churns itself right into my having to grab the small trash can beside Sheriff Peeler’s desk and puke.
“Oh, Nore,” Josie comments and reaches forward to hold my hair back. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
It sure as shit doesn’t feel okay. It feels like I took my trouble and doubled it—and then brought it right to the doorstep of a town that doesn’t deserve it.
When the ticket vendor at the bus station asked where to, I should’ve said anywhere else…anywhere but here.
11
Bennett
I pull out of the police station’s parking lot with the intention of heading home, but for some reason, I find myself coming to a stop in front of Clay’s bar.
I cut the engine and just sit there in the driver’s seat, warring with myself about what I’m even doing here. Spending the day in lockup and someone who needs me at home should be all the motivation I require to go straight there, and yet…here I am.
Phone out of my pocket, I send a quick text.
Me: Evening go okay? I might still be a while.
Not even a minute later, my phone dings with a response.
Charlie: It was a good day. And no worries.
No worries. That’s not the response I needed to knock some fucking sense into my head.
Before I know it, my boots hit the concrete and my door clicks shut behind me.
The Country Club is busy as hell. Live music in the form of banjos and bluegrass filters from the stage at the back, a man who looks like the lead singer of ZZ Top yodels into the mic as a few tipsy people try their hand at line dancing, and Clay is behind the bar, serving the patrons of Red Bridge all the booze their hearts desire.
This is probably a bad idea.
I find a stool that is positioned in the middle of two empty seats and sit down. Marty Higgins, one of Clay’s bartenders, slides a fresh napkin in front of me. “What can I get you, Ben?”
“The strongest bourbon you can find. And make it a double.”
Marty quirks an eyebrow. “Tough day?”
“You have no idea.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t ask for any further explanation and gets to work on pouring a healthy dose of Woodford Reserve into a rocks glass and setting it in front of me. I lift the glass to my lips and take a long drink.
I stare down at the now half-empty glass and block out all the commotion behind me. The chatter. The music. It becomes white noise, and my mind becomes a blank canvas to paint with ponderings of repercussions.
Fuck, this could have been so bad. For me, for my career, but mostly for—
“Heard you got into a knife fight with three guys who were trying to kidnap Josie’s sister.”
I look up from my drink to find Clay standing in front of me, one elbow resting on the bar.
“Small-town news travels fast,” I comment. “Although, it doesn’t travel accurately.”
“What the hell happened?”
Isn’t that the question of the hour—one I’m still trying to figure out the answer to. A woman I have no personal interest in had a problem with a prick from the city who drives a black Audi, and I, somehow, found it a good idea to get involved.
You lost control.
“Norah Ellis’s ex is a motherfucker. Put his hands on her when she very clearly didn’t want them on her. I intervened with my fist.”
Clay raises one eyebrow before running a hand through his hair. “Damn, dude. You going to have legal ramifications from that?”
Any kind of legal bullshit is the last thing I need to be involved in. My sister alone would give me enough strife to last a lifetime, but the other things depending on me being let down would kill me. He knows that.
“There should’ve been. But the sheriff just called me a little bit ago to let me know Norah convinced the county prosecutor to drop criminal charges on the asshole if he gets the hell out of Red Bridge and doesn’t press charges against me. And he agreed because of a protection order for Norah. Though, I’m not entirely convinced it’s over because he doesn’t seem like the type to let shit go.”