Page 36 of Bidding War

She smiles at that. “Yeah. I am. Are you?”

“I’m fine?—"

“You look like you were in a car accident.”

“Well, you sound like you swallowed rocks.”

She gives me a screwy look.

“Thought we were pointing out the obvious.”

She snorts a giggle, and then her face falls. Her eyes have settled on Neil’s slumped body. He hasn’t budged since I knocked him out. Thankfully, the blood stopped streaming down his face and chest. June shakes her head at him, then holds it as if that will stop her from spinning. “I can’t believe I thought he was a nice guy.”

“Wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“He made it sound like he was this sweetie from a farm in Nebraska. I don’t know how much of that was bullshit or if he was for real. How … how does anyone trust anybody?”

I put my arm around her. “In my experience, it takes years of being a certified asshole, turning over a new leaf, buying a woman’s time for a night, and then having your dad turn her life upside down before a woman will trust you.”

She laughs at that, and I am relieved to hear it. Her laugh is choppy and a little deranged after everything she’s been through tonight, but it’s still June’s laugh, and there is no better sound in the world. She leans her head on my shoulder. “You’re right, though. I do trust you, Anderson.”

I don’t even care that her head is bearing down on one of my bruises. Is it a bruise? Feels worse. Did that fucker break my clavicle? Doesn’t matter. I have June. For now, anyway.

“We should call the cops.”

She sighs. “Yeah. I guess so.” She stands up, quirking her head to the side as she stares at Neil. “He doesn’t look right.”

“What do you mean?”

But she kneels next to him, shocking the hell out of me. If I were her, I wouldn’t get anywhere near that piece of shit.

“Don’t stand so close to him, in case he wakes up.”

“I don’t think I have to worry about that.”

“What are you talking about?”

She quietly murmurs, “He’s blue, Anderson.”

That drops me next to her. The sheen from the blood on his sweater isn’t moving beneath the lights. His chest isn’t rising and falling. Warily, I lift his hand, and it limply slaps to the floor. She’s right—he is faintly blue. If he’s faking this, he’s dedicated. Playing dead is a smart tactic when you’re down. He’s a good enough fighter that this is likely his plan. If so, his next swing will be a kill shot.

“June, get behind me.”

She stands up and moves behind me. “What are you doing?”

I gulp and press two fingers to his throat, ready for him to strike.

But he can’t strike. He’s dead.

-

20

JUNE

Anderson quietly mutters, “He’s not just blue. He’s dead.”

I blink so many times there might as well be a strobe light in the lobby. My brain doesn’t want to wrap around this. In fact, my brain doesn’t want to comprehend anything that’s happened in the past hour. I want to go back in time to the moment Nice Neil kissed me outside of O’Mulligan’s and get a do-over of the night.

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