Fuck.
To top it all off, Adora’s sad. I can see it. I can feel it. It’s like her sadness is wired straight to my fucking soul, and it drags me down every time I catch a glimpse of her through the window.
Her little bookstore is empty, no customers. Shelves lined with untouched books. She sits behind the counter, hands folded, eyes big and misting over. It wrecks me.
Why the fuck is it empty? Why is she alone in there?
Rage boils up, violent and loud. I turn on my heel, take my ball cap off and walk away. I nod at Myth, a quick signal that I’m out. Can’t watch her like this. Can’t stand the fucking ache in my chest knowing she’s struggling and I can’t go to her. Can’t tell her it’s gonna get better.
I need to do something. Anything.
I climb into the cage borrowed from the clubhouse, shove the keys in, and the engine roars to life. But before I take off, I yank out my phone and dial Fang.
He picks up quick. “Hey, Veep.”
“The new bookstore in town. You know it?” I ask, voice clipped.
“Sure,” he trails off, confused. “It’s your girl’s place, right?”
My girl.I shove the thought down.
“Find someone and print flyers for it. Spread them all over the fucking county. I want it everywhere. Take Mindfuck, Pyro, Domino, Hades, Sketch, the prospects, I don’t give a fuck who. Go bar to bar, club to club, coffee shop to coffee shop. Talk up the bookstore to any chick you flirt with. Give them bike rides, whatever the fuck you need to do. Got it?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then he laughs, amused as hell. I amnotfucking amused.
“Sooo… you want us to go into marketing? Pimp ourselves out for promotion?”
“Fang…” My grip on the wheel tightens, knuckles going white.
“Yes, boss?”
“DO IT, FUCKER. NOW!”
There’s a curse, muffled through the speaker. I don’t wait to hear the rest. I end the call and slam the gear into drive, peeling out of the parking space.
I head straight for the clubhouse. The second I’m through the door, my eyes laser onto Domino, sitting at the bar. The moment he sees me, he straightens up, eyes going wide.
Yeah, I probably look unhinged. I feel it.
I stomp over, slap a wad of cash on the bar in front of him. He stares at it, then back at me. His eyebrows climb all the way to his fucking hairline.
“You like reading chick crap, Domino,” I say, voice flat.
His eyes narrow. “Umm… yes?” It’s more of a question than an answer.
I nod to the cash. “There’s a bookstore in town. Sells your favorite shit. Go buy some.”
“Oh, fuck yeah!” He grins wide, grabbing the stack of bills. “It’s open already? I’ve been waiting for that.” He pockets the money without hesitation. “Thanks for the deposit. I’ll make sure to buy something real dirty in your honor.”
“I don’t need the details,” I mutter, turning on my heel and stalking to my room.
Two hours later, I’m sitting in front of my laptop, staring at the screen like it’s going to fucking bite me.
I take a deep breath, hit the “Join” button, and wait for the video call to connect. I’m heading back out tonight, but before that, I’ve got this…thingto do. Online therapy session. Fifth try. Mama found another guy. The last four were bullshit. Quacks. She keeps insisting on this shit and I can’t say no to her.
The video flickers on. A bald, clean-cut, middle-aged man appears on the screen. He’s got a fake ass smile plastered on his face.
“Hello, Dominic. Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Turner.”
