Page 6 of Desperate Valentine

“Y-yes. Something like that.” I can barely get the words out, knowing that I’ve already dug myself in deep.

“Something like that?” He tosses his cigarette to the ground. “Where is he?”

“My bathtub. In my dorm room.”

“What?! St. Valentines?”

“Yes.”

“I have connections with the staff there. You’re good,” he assures.

“How am I good? The dude is bleeding out in my bathtub!” I squeal, unable to hold back the tears.

“Trust me. I know how to handle this. Let me talk to Suzanne and then we can head to your dorm in my truck.”

“How are you so nonchalant about this? I literally killed a man and you’re just—”

“I’ve done some things myself… What’s your name?”

“Veronica.”

“Mmm, I like that name. Sounds so sophisticated.”

“Yeah.” I roll my eyes. “If you call a big mouth and a stubborn personalitysophisticated.”

He chuckles and unlocks the door as I stand fearfully behind him. What if he’s just setting me up? If he calls the police instead of helping me, I’m fucked.

Why am I taking such a huge risk? I could definitely use his help, but at what cost? Most people want something in return, right?

He doesn’t strike me as the type to rat on someone. How would he benefit from ratting me out anyway?

As soon as we get inside, we head toward the bar where he tells the other bartender to hold down the fort while he’s gone.

He reaches for his keys, revealing a sliver of his hard, muscular stomach as his shirt rides up.

Holy shit.

This is beyond confusing. It must be the daddy vibes he’s giving off. The last thing I should be thinking about is dick.

Yet, here I am, doing exactly that.

“Ready?” he asks, placing his arm around my shoulders as we walk toward the exit.

His truck is massive. Something I’d expect a farmer to drive, quite honestly. Not a bar owner.

“You can wait in the truck while I fetch his body. You don’t need to see it all over again,” he says, opening the passenger door for me to climb in.

Before he gets in, he stops by the side of the truck and pulls his phone out. I can’t really hear what he’s saying, but the conversation is short.

“Sorry about that.” Jude hops easily into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut with finality before turning the key, the engine roaring to life with a noise that startles me.

“That’s okay.”

“I’ll drive you back to your car tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

My cousin warned me about this. How stupid could I be? Hopping into the truck of a man I don’t even know. Let alone allowing him to take me to his house? Nobody even knows where I am right now.

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