Page 28 of Bounty
One look at my face and she froze. I tensed, preparing for the onslaught of questions. Yet, they didn’t come. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close. After a moment, I relaxed, snuggling against her. A stray tear escaped my eye, which I quickly swiped away. No matter how old I got, her embrace would forever be a healing balm. There’s nothing like a mother’s love, as the saying goes.
I sniffled.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t cry. Cassie will come to her senses, one day,” she murmured, pressed a kiss to my forehead, and pulled away. “Get some rest, Effie. We have a long day tomorrow.”
She rose, shed her dress, and went to the bathroom, leaving me alone on the bed.
For years, my mother’s ditziness and hyperfocus on fixing Cassie’s dumpster fire of a life blinded her to my emotions, and the reasons behind them. This time was no different.
I pushed back the covers and laid down. Staring at the ceiling, I willed my mind to quiet. To forget. Without a doubt, the signing would be rough and test my strength. Yet, I’d get through it, and never again allow someone like Slice into my heart. Never again would I chase a man because of a girlish fantasy I’d cooked up. From here on out, I’d focus on myself, on my studies, on being my mother’s part-time author’s assistant. Love would be a future endeavor—if it was even destined for me.
And yet, despite my silent pledge, the memory of Slice’s touch lingered. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I drifted into a restless sleep.
Dickheadness and miserable motherfuckery tended to keep a man awake at night. Once Effie left, I didn’t sleep one goddamn wink. Zero. Zilch.
Fuckingnada.
That door slam lived on repeat in my head, competing with replays of my evening with Effie. I went over all ourinteractions from the moment we met a year and a half ago until the moment I finally took her in my arms. A few irrefutable facts settled into my brain. One, she’d wanted to fuck me and asked no questions. The tit pic entered my evidence. Yeah, it was to alleviate my fucking guilt, but I clocked it as a win for me. Two,shenever once told me she wanted something more. I thought we were on the same page. Had I known—had she opened her goddamn mouthbeforehand—I would’ve kept my cock in my pants.
A flaming fucking lie, but whatever. This was about making my pain go away, not finding a way to agree with her take on the situation.
Three, she had a helluva lot of goddamn motherfucking nerve shoving all the blame on me. I didn’t force her. I didn’t make any promises.AndI’d pulled away from her weeks ago.Shewas the one determined to have me.
The more I justified my position, the more sleep eluded me. Too many times to count, I had to stop myself from texting her. Several times, I picked up my phone, hoping to find a message from her. By the time the sun rose, I felt meaner than a fucking bear and lower than a goddamn snake.
At the last event, Daria paid for my accommodations for the night before the signing and the night of. This year, she threw in an extra day for me, and I was grateful. I couldn’t imagine having to face Effie the morning after I’d been such an asshole.
After a quick shower, I felt marginally better. Concerned I might run into Effie in the restaurant, I opted for a drive-thru meal. Quick, greasy, and filling. Once I parked, I dug in. The cup of Joe was weaker than I liked, but it had to do until I straightened this shit out. Maybe, later, I’d find a nicer restaurant for us, so we could talk like grown-ups instead ofschool kids flinging accusations and blame. Neither one of us had been upfront and now we were suffering.
An irrefutable truth of my own? I didn’t want to lose Effie. Her friendship. She wasn’t mine to lose. I didn’t want her to be mine. Not at all. Never in a million years. She was young, sweet, and disappointingly innocent. Though she’d had two lovers, she still expected roses and romance…
Romance?
Romance.
Just because she wasn’t mine—and I didn’t want her to be—didn’t mean I couldn’t steal her away after tonight’s dinner, and wine and dine her. Daria paid for our tickets, so she, Effie, and I would sit at the same table. Readers were attending as well, but I could whisper sweet nothings to Effie in between talking to everyone else.
Romance wasn’t my specialty. When I had a woman, she never wanted for shit. Except,maybe, sweet nothings outside the bedroom. Even that was debatable. I laid good dick and feasted on her pussy. If I couldn’t find poetic words, I was forgiven.
Effie required more. She needed romance, and her mom’s books would help me.
Grinning like a lunatic, I walked across the parking lot to the trash can right outside the restaurant’s entrance. Before returning to the hotel, I stopped atBarnes and Nobleto purchase a copy of Daria’s latest book. Should’ve done that days ago since my appearance centered around her male lead—Moose. I could’ve bought the copy from Daria. That risked running into Effie. Just deciding to read the book would also reflect badly on my fucking ass. Besides, when the corporate office contacted Daria and informed her that her books were approved for sale in their physical stores, Lennon called me. He told me to tell everyone to go to their localBarnes and Nobletobuy her book, so they’d turn a profit and continue to be offered on shelves.
Back in my hotel room, I glanced at the blurb on the back cover ofInk & Iron.
Bestselling romance author Darcy Mouton knows how to write passion, betrayal, and redemption—but nothing in her carefully crafted stories prepared her for Colt “Moose” Lawson. The infamous enforcer of the Red Reapers MC is everything she shouldn’t want: dangerous, untamed, and haunted by a past that has left blood on his hands.
When Darcy finds herself tangled in the club’s world, researching a novel she never intended to live, Moose becomes both her protector and her greatest temptation. Their connection is raw and undeniable, but as secrets unravel and enemies close in, Darcy must decide if she’s willing to risk everything—including her heart—for a love that was never meant to have a happy ending.
Because in Moose’s world, love isn’t written in ink. It’s carved in flesh. And the price of forever might just be death.
What the absolute fuck?
No. Just fuck no.
Chuckling without humor, I shook my head in denial. Reread the blurb.
This woman—
