The first part was very true. If he’d had one bullet left, the shot aimed at my head would’ve left more than a small scar. The second part was subjective.
Knowing he wouldn’t agree with me on it, I changed the subject. “Earlier, you mentioned needing to talk about my job, but we never finished that conversation. What was it?”
“After last night, I’d figured you’d be in your head about rules and your career. Wanted to let you know that I’m aware the situation isn’t ideal, and I’ll tread carefully.” That already made me feel good, but he went and made it better by adding, “Also know how much being a cop means to you and how seriously you take it. Starting this was a risk for you, and it couldn’t have been easy for you to bend the rules. But I’m damn grateful you did.”
There was so much good said in such a nonchalant, factual way, it left me speechless.
Rather than scrambling for words, I kissed him.
For all of two seconds.
And then he took over the kiss until I was speechless and breathless.
When he eventually pulled away, I settled back in, but I did it thinking about the two things he’d gotten wrong.
One, I’d more than bent the rules.
And two, it’s been the easiest decision I’d ever made.
CHAPTER FORTY
ANALYZE THE MANIACAL SMILE
RHYS
What a fuckin’ headache.
Literally.
I pushed away from my desk, closed my eyes, and rubbed my temple. Knew what was coming, and it was driving an ice pick into my brain.
The Friday after Noah’s SBOOB intel, I hadn’t been surprised to see the convening group of protesters outside of Rye. What had caught me off guard was there were more than three bored bastards. A lot more. And most of them had big-ass signs advertising the BS complaints against my bar, pictures of the neon dick graffiti, and even some after the drive-by. Thankfully, none of them included any views of Lo, but it was still jacked to see.
Worse, they’d gotten the footage from being there. Lo recognized the group that’d assembled across the street soon after the cops arrived that night.
Those uppity assholes were trying to use the fact I’d been shot at—possibly randomly—to take away everything I’d worked so hard to build.
They were back the next night before going silent during the week. I’d hoped that was the end of their attention span, but they’d returned the following weekend.
And as we got ready for a Friday night concert, I did it knowing they’d be back.
I thought about canceling. Probably should have. But the band was close to something big, and I wanted their names on Rye’s wall as a before-they-were-famous memory. Beyond that, they had a good following, and that was mutually beneficial.
Wicked was in even worse shape. Protestors had to stay off the property, but that didn’t stop them from filming and streaming from across the way with some bullshit justifications that it wasn’t their fault the strip club was in the background.
Not a lot of men were lining up to have their faces and vehicles splashed all over the internet.
It didn’t help matters that they caught one of the nightclubs they werecoincidentallyfilming outside of was overserving and letting customers drive away wasted.
Or the pills and coke that were found behind the bar.
That win added to the group’s credibility and sway with the public. Even if they backed off, the damage was done.
People remembered the headlines.
They didn’t always see—or believe—the retractions.
“How’d I know I would find you in here?” the prettiest damn voice—and the only person keeping me sane—asked.
