Page 17 of The Good Girl

“And G?”

“He’s lucky. It could have been a lot worse. By the way, Acid’s stable. I patched him up and had Circus and Toot take him to the shack. He’ll be out of it for a couple of days, so I’d hold off on questioning him.”

“Okay. Thanks, Hannibal.” I rub my hand down my face, feeling tired all of a sudden.

“Don’t mention it.” He turns to leave but stops. “You did good today, Havoc. We’re lucky to have you.” With that, he takes Amity and leaves.

“Midas, go with them.”

He nods and follows behind them.

“What now?” Probe asks.

“Now, we do a little digging and find out what the fuck is going on.” I blow out a breath.

And to think, this started out as such a good day.

Chapter Four

Nevaeh

By the time I got to the airport, my head was throbbing so I popped some more pain killers and drank a couple of bottles of water. With a slightly queasy stomach, I avoided eating anything and just hopped on the first plane to London, hoping I’d sleep a chunk of the journey away. Unfortunately, sleep evaded me because my brain wouldn’t shut off.

Now, a few hours into the flight, I couldn’t pretend what I was doing wasn’t for all the wrong reasons. I was running away like a wuss. No, like a chicken. A big ol’ yellow-bellied chicken.

I bury my face in my hands, wondering if I left a trail of smoke behind me with how fast I bolted out of there.

At first, I was embarrassed about doing the walk of shame. Now, I’m embarrassed about fleeing the country. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep what happened between me and Havoc a secret for long. I haven’t spent much time with the guys, but I know they gossip worse than a bunch of high school girls. That’s assuming Havoc even remembers. It never crossed my mind that he might’ve been just as drunk as I was.

There’s a comfort in that, though I’d be lying if I said the ache in my chest was indigestion. My first time might not have gone the way I imagined it, but the thought of being forgotten…

“Ugh, I’m such a drama queen.”

“Excuse me?”

I freeze, realizing I just said that out loud, and turn to look at the guy sitting next to me.

“Sorry,” I mumble, my face heating.

He smirks at me. In another life, before my vagina had been invaded, I might have felt something. He’s a good-looking guy and just rough enough to be my type. He’s big and broad with sandy-colored hair. A faint scar runs from his hairline down the side of his face as if someone tried to cut him up, and like Havoc, he’s had his nose broken once or twice.

“Dammit, don’t think about him.”

“Think about who?” the man asks, his pale blue eyes studying me as he waits for an answer, but they don’t feel intrusive. They’re more curious than anything.

“A man,” I reply.

“Ah, well, that explains everything,” he teases.

I huff, then open my mouth and everything spills out. “I got drunk, which was stupid because I never drink, and ended up having sex with a strange man.”

I slap my hands over my mouth, cutting off the stream of words as my eyes widen to the point where I’m worried an eyeball will pop out and roll down the aisle.

He shakes his head, angling his body toward me. “Honestly, it happens to us all.”

“You get drunk and wake up with strange men often?” I ask.

He laughs. “I’m usually the strange man. What can I say? I like women; I just don’t want the aggravation of dating one.”

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