Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I nodded in understanding. “Yes, even after everything, Molly.” Her wounds were too fresh, but I couldn’t let the cruelty of men ruin another life, not of such a sweet girl.
“Look, I’ve been through what you have, except I was a kid, little more than a baby when it started. It fucked me up completely. You were, according to Maddie, a nice and sweet girl who was on track to have all the good things in life. Remember that girl, and don’t let her go. Do that, and you’ll get your happy ever after.”
“You sound so sure about me, but you’ve written it off for yourself. Why?”
“Because I am who I am, Molly. I don’t trust easily, and I’m not even sure I know how to love another person the way I already love my baby. No man can look at me and see past what I do, not even Jasper or the Ashby men. So what hope do I have that a normal everyday man can handle it?”
I shook off the hurt that snaked through me again and sighed. “What about Calvin? He’d love and protect you and give you everything your heart desires. And he’s rich as fuck. The only negative is that he’s still an Ashby.”
She blushed and looked away, shaking her head. “He is a fine-looking man for sure. Well, hot as fuck as they say. But, even if I knew how to start going after all that, I’m not ready to settle down with anyone. Not yet.”
I laughed out loud at that. “According to romance novels, that’s when the good guys are most likely to come around.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “I’m not so sure about that, but if you need anything, to talk, someone to do birthing classes with you, give me a call.”
I pointed at her and smiled. “See? There’s that nice and sweet thing I was talking about. Good men? They eat that shit up.”
And when she was ready, they’d line up around the block for a chance with Molly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jasper
“Are you sure this is how you want to play this, Jas? It could backfire big time, and with Agent Beck running around with a hard-on for us, she could complicate things.” Virgil stood beside me just outside a brown and blue ranch house that sat nestled in a suburban neighborhood in Henderson, Nevada.
I scanned the house with blue shutters and a brown door. It looked like every other house on the block, except where the neighbors seemed to take care of the property with freshly mowed, manicured lawns and nicer cars parked in the driveways. This house was mostly dark, all the blinds drawn in the middle of the day, the loud bump of rock music concealing whatever else might be happening inside.
“Yeah, I’m sure. The fucker who attacked Mo lived here.”
Virgil nodded. “Is this his family home?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Cal said he wasn’t married and no children. The house is owned by Owen Cardiff, who doesn’t have a job. His criminal record is just a list of petty crimes. Four known associates, Richard Johnson, Mark Rizzo, and Butch Foles. The one who attacked Mo was Jack Mitchum.”
“Any connection to anyone we know?”
I shook my head and stamped out the cigarette, sliding the filter into my pocket. “Not that Cal was able to figure out. Not that it matters.”
Virgil turned to face me, his arms crossed, brows knitted into a frown.
“So we’re doing this?”
“Yeah, we are.” I stared back at Virgil, trying to figure out what the fuck he was thinking but refused to say. His blue eyes matched our fathers in color and impenetrability. “What, goddammit?”
Virgil sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just trying to figure out if this is about Mo, Cal. or Ma.”
“Probably a little bit of all three. Problem?”
Virgil smiled. “Hell, no, I just wanted you to admit this was a little bit about Mo.”
“Asshole,” I growled. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll go to the back door,” Virgil offered with a smile. “I like to be a surprise.”
I nodded and stepped off the curb, looking left and then right even though no cars had come down the block since we arrived ten minutes ago.
“Two minutes,” I called out as Virgil jumped the six-foot fence with the ease of a panther.
Then I made my way to the door.
The music stopped after the second round of knocking, but I didn’t reach for my piece, not yet. The blinds flickered to my right, but I focused on the door. Heavy footfalls sounded, and I guessed that Cardiff’s associates were likely inside, which played right into my plans.
The door flew open, and a man with black hair stood there, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. “What the fuck do you want?”
A tough guy. They were always the most fun to take down.