Page 17 of Dark Horse

“Fine,” he says at last.

Hope blooms again. I glance at the clock. There’s still time. We could fix this.

“Is there some way to get it back? Some way to undo the deletion of the account? I have someone I’m supposed to be online with in an hour.”

“No.” His thumb swipes over his lips as his eyes fall over me while he considers my situation. “You’re done with that.”

“I thought we just established that—” The look he gives me stops me mid-sentence. He shakes his head and sits back in the seat, surveying me in a way that makes me shift in mine.

“I’m done being your fucking guardian angel all the time. Fuck, I don’t think I can handle another day like today.” He looks up at the ceiling like he’s saying a prayer to a higher power. “I’ll give you the money in advance so you can pay for the things you need for Hazel’s wedding. But you’re going to pay it all back. Anything over and above what you already earned, the back rent, all of it—with interest and fucking penalties for lying to me. You don’t want me to be family? Fine. I’m not gonna treat you like family. You’re gonna learn what it means to be in debt up to your fucking eyeballs with the Horsemen.”

“The bar is barely in the black most months after I pay thestaff. Without more subscriber money…” I shake my head. “There’s no way I can pay you the money back. You might as well tell your minions to slit my throat or take a finger or whatever it is you all do now. Save us both the trouble of waiting around for it.”

“I don’t outsource my dirty work, and I didn’t say you were going to pay me back in cash.”

“What?” I frown in confusion.

He glances at the clock and stands abruptly like he has somewhere important to be.

“I have to get back to the Avarice. We’ve got VIPs in tonight. Cover the bar shift. But when I go back to my room after last call tonight, I expect to hear from you. Don’t make me wait for the text.”

“What do you mean hear from me? What am I texting you?”

“What were you doing for him in an hour?”

“I was…” The words fade on my lips, trying to make sense of what he’s asking of me. It can’t be what I think it is. I have to be misunderstanding him somehow.

“You were?” He looks at me impatiently and smirks when he sees the blush returning to my cheeks. His eyes drift down over my body. “You’re gonna have to get over that embarrassment. It’s gonna make it real hard for you to show me how wet you’re getting while you beg for my cock later, Cowgirl.”

SIX

DAKOTA

I swirlmy straw through the ice and oat milk, churning up the chai at the bottom of the cup while I sit in the corner of Hotcakes. Marlowe, the owner, is one of my best friends, and another of Hazel’s bridesmaids. She’s working with a couple of her employees, finishing up their closing routine before she can come sit with me. The place opens at the crack of dawn, so they close just after the lunch shift, which leaves me plenty of time to chat with her before I have to go back to Seven Sins across the street for my shift.

I hadn’t been able to sleep in like I wanted this morning. Grant let me off the hook late last night, but the events of the evening just kept playing in a loop in my head. The way he talked to me. What he asked for in exchange for the help he was giving me—if you can call destroying my side hustle help.

Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t thinking of leaving behind my bar and changing careers, but I didn’t hate the subscription site work. The men were easy enough to talk to, and several of them had even been nice. I expected to be wading waist-deep in creeps when I leaped into this whole thing. Still, I was pleasantly surprised to find it was mostly guys who were lonely and wanted someone to talk to about their days or escape their daily routine through fantasy for a half hour or two. It isn’t nearly as scandalous as I’d made it out to be in my head. It felt a lot like running the bar—look cute, flirt, show a little cleavage, keep the discussion light and the patrons smiling. Simple stuff really.

I still know that it’s the sort of thing I’d be scorned for in this small town. I already took enough shit for being the wild child who’d been running a bar since she turned twenty-one. Grandmas clutched their pearls, and mamas didn’t see me as the type you took home for family dinner on Sunday nights. I’d learned to live with that over the years, but this would bring out the gossips in full force if they found out.

Which is why I don’t know whether or not to tell Marlowe. Not that she’d tell anyone. In our friend group, she’s the vault—the one you can tell anything to without fear of judgment or overbearing advice, and the same one who would take all your secrets to her grave. But we don’t usually keep secrets from each other in our tight-knit group, and I’d be forcing her to do just that.

I can’t imagine telling Hazel with the wedding looming and her former and future brother-in-law at the center of it. Bristol, our other best friend, is drowning in her own money and time problems. I can’t add mine to the pile just to ease my mind. So it’s Marlowe or no one. I look up to see her putting a few baked goods on a plate and grinning at me from across the room. I smile back.

She’d never get herself into this situation. In addition tobeing the secret keeper, she’s also the good girl. The one who dutifully took over her mother’s bakery and charms every single person who walks in the door with her sunshiny disposition. Some days, I wish some of it could wear off on me, but it never seems to take, no matter how many years we’ve been friends.

She sits down across from me and immediately clocks my mood. She pushes a plate of chocolate croissants, cookies, and mini cupcakes in front of me.

“Dealer’s choice for your troubles, but you gotta spill.” She raises a brow.

“What makes you think I have something to spill? Maybe I just wanted some afternoon tea and company,” I counter.

“You look like you haven’t slept, and if you’re here instead of in bed grabbing the last few hours before you have to be ready for work, then it’s dire—whatever it is.”

“It is dire.” I sigh and tear off a piece of the chocolate croissant. “But I don’t know if I should pull you into it or not. It’s messy.”

“How so?”

---