AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Because I want to fade into those memories and I can’t, not without letting Charlie and Joy down, I snap my fingers in the woman’s face to draw her attention to me.
“Look, can you please take this outsid—”
And that’s when the woman throws her tomato bisque all over me.
On me. Not him. Becausethatmakes sense.
The boyfriend bolts up, calling her a crazy bitch while I’m standing there, drenched in goddamn bisque, and she looks surprised that I’m even here.
I stare at my hands, now dripping with soup. My uniform’s covered. It’s everywhere, sticky and warm and oozing…
I snag a napkin and wipe away the excess, but there’s so goddamn much of it.
I can’t—
“Cindy?” Ryder’s voice is behind me, and my relief at his presence is better than a Valium. All I want is for him to save me from this day.
But he can’t.
I’m exactly like this poor girl, screaming and throwing her soup because of a guy who hurt her. Unfortunately for me, instead of hitting the asshole boyfriend, I’m the one saturated with her grief.
“I have to get out of here. I can’t breathe.”
Beseechingly, I look at him, then around the diner.
Everyone’s watching. My humiliation is complete.
And suddenly, I’m back in Blade’s house, watching Julianna pull the trigger over and over as the man who was going to kill us falls dead to the floor.
The bisque I’m covered with is not soup; it’s blood from the Russian with the blown-off face. I blink at my wet hands and fight the need to start screaming as my neck muscles tighten.
Breathe, just breathe. It’s not blood, just soup.
“Fuck,” Ryder hisses, seeming to sense I’m in the middle of a breakdown.
Then, he stuns me by picking me up and walking us toward the exit. That’s when I cave in and burrow my face into his neck.
Why can’t I kick him? Ryder’s my addiction, not the freakin’ pills.
“I need my purse,” I sob.
He growls something under his breath that I can’t understand but yells, “Someone get me her purse.”
Because it’s Ryder and no one says no to him, he’s snatching it from the stunned busboy Manny in less than forty seconds.
I keep clinging to him while he kicks open the front door, walking us to the corner of the parking lot.
“What’s going on with you?” he queries, setting me down, but I don’t let go.I can’t.
“It’s been a really bad day.” I sniff.
When I lift my head, my eyes connect with his honey-brown ones, but he’s unaware that I’m pleading with him for...something.
His voice sounds distant as he says, “It happens.” He removes my hands from around his neck, but instead of letting go, I cling tighter and drown in him—his eyes, his scent, his hold.
What are you doing?
The next thing I know, I’m lifting my lips to his, whispering, “Please, Ryder.”
