Page 67 of Falling in Reverse

“It’s not for me,” he retorts calmly, smelling the bourbon he just poured into his glass, examining it for poison or something. “It’s for you and the boys.”

“Why would you want to hand anything to me when you’ve known me for less than a week?”

“I’ve known about you for months.”

My face twists and my immediate thought blurts from my lips, “Why, you could’ve just gotten my life insurance policy when you thought I was dead and went on with your life?”

Emilio’s face matches mine when he replies, “What the hell is a couple of thousand dollars going to do for me when I get it every day?” I shrug, and he releases an exasperated sigh. “You’re just like your mother.”

My snappy curiosity is provoked by the mention of a woman who may have loved me. How did she die? Did she, in fact, love me as a child when Paisley couldn’t?

These things can be answered by Dad, and I’m going to hold off on my excitement about another female being my true mother instead of the one I claimed.

“You’re doing yourself a disservice by not allowing yourself to see the flip side,” Emilio advises. “You were raised to hate me. Just as you were thrust into this life, one town at the throat of another’s.”

“And you’re the good guy?”

“Never claimed to be the hero in this story. In fact, I’m a royal prick.” I stare at him while Emilio regards me for another minute before finishing off his drink in one giant swoop. Rising from the stool, he buttons his navy suit jacket and tucks his chin into his chest as he does. “I’ll help free up some of your time. You must be extremely busy, and I want to make sure you have the headspace to realize what good of an opportunity you have.”

“I can give you my answer now.”

“Talk to Levi Wallace about it.” He plucks a black leather wallet from his slacks. “I’m sure he can see the benefits of this arrangement.” His crystal blues latch onto mine. “Unless it’s our little secret for now.”

I swallow the bile that stirs in my stomach. “Why would I keep my enemy a secret?”

“Because I haven’t had any bullets flown my way yet.” Maybe I should finally cut this dumb shit free after all. “I guess keeping me a mystery would be in your best interest. You wouldn’t want anyone to turn on you.”

Levi would never, EVER turn his back on me.

Keep telling yourself that. You’re linked straight up to the enemy he hates now.

“You’re just making this too easy for me, Wildes,” I leer through a tight jaw, shoving past the growing anxiety he just created.

He only offers me a shitty smirk and, without another word, he pridefully strides toward the exit with Cairo and the three dudes at his heels.

Pivoting, I grab my cell phone to call Levi and ask him where his guys are who were supposed to be out in the parking lot watching my six, when the crash of something hard hitting the floor causes me to jolt back around.

The flick of a lighter licks up my spine as my heart leaps into my throat. I couldn’t mistake the crackling sound of fire if I wanted to. Nor the smell of gasoline that two dudes are currently dumping all over the fucking place.

Red and yellow flames climb the furniture as I rip my sweatshirt over my head and try to stop it from spreading. I’m to the two steps that lead up to the pool table and dartboards when I’m scooped up and thrown across the room, hitting the surface of the table and almost flipping it over.

As quickly as I can, I get to my feet, just to have a fist slam into the back of my head, sending me back to where I had just come from. Lifting a chair, I swing it and myself around to connect with the guy behind me. I’m successful in my hit, but not with the flames that are beginning to scramble up the walls.

Panic ramps up my chest as I scurry to get some water.

It’s too much.

It’s way too much.

With a running start, I jump up on the counter, only getting to my waist as I scramble to get on top of it and get to my phone, to no avail. I’m hurled back and spun around, another fist from someone I don’t catch slamming into my temple.

I stumble back, my jaw and the whole side of my face violently throbbing and numb to the point where I’m becoming disoriented. I can feel the heat from the flames, and allow my feet to clumsily find myself back against the bar.

The bells to the door chime once more, and I don’t have to look to know that the assholes left me alone to handle this mess. Glancing down at my cell, I poorly aim my fingers to dial 911, having to try three times before getting it right.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“There’s a fire at The Stowaway,” I drawl, rubbing at my temple. “Please, hurry.”

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