Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“Let’s head into Sea Haven. Hannah Drake Harrington opens her tea shop early. We can grab coffee and something to eat. You can’t drive back to San Francisco without getting coffee in you. You’ve been up all night.”
Maestro agreed and started up his Harley-Davidson Iron 883. Savage’s Night Rod Special roared to life. The two took off, riding along the coastal highway toward Sea Haven. Once again, peace settled over him, the early morning fog enfolding him like a gray blanket. The sun shot through the fog, sending streaks of orange-red light over the water in a dazzling display. The wind played with the surface of the water, sending white foam and diamonds into the air and over the bluffs.
Maestro tried to keep his thoughts away from Zelie, but it was impossible. He had no idea why she had made such an impression on him. Why he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts. Why he couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing her again. He knew he should cut off all contact with her. He might not be a sexual sadist, but he had flaws. Damage. It was very real and lasting. He wasn’t a man who would put up with his woman defying him. Like with Savage, there would be consequences, punishments. He knew most women would never put up with a man like him. Not long-term. The worst was, he would enjoy those punishments a little too much because it meant she cared enough about him to give him the things he needed.
He wasn’t like Savage and Reaper, men who women sympathized with. Their scars were physical and the trauma to them so deep they never failed to garner the attention of women. It wasn’t as if Maestro hadn’t been physically tortured or raped, but his trauma was far more psychological. Unseen. The scars were there, just not as noticeable. He was softer inside. He was a musician, an artist with a poet’s soul. It embarrassed him that he wasn’t as tough as he thought he should be. Sorbacov seemed to have had a gift for knowing what would harm each child the most. He had been able to see into Maestro when others, to this day, couldn’t.
He wasn’t upset with his Torpedo Ink brothers and sisters. He’d developed a tough shell. He’d had to in order to survive. If anyone saw into him, it was Czar. The others took what he said and did at face value. Unless it was Keys. Keys seemed to read him, to see into his bullshit performances.
Comparing himself to Reaper and Savage all the time made him come up short. It wasn’t as if he ever shirked his duties. He was an assassin, and there was no hesitation when he killed, but the kills haunted him. The victims, no matter how deserving of death, visited him at night.
How did he explain himself to a woman like Azelie without sounding like a pathetic loser when he really was a monster? Sorbacov specialized in creating monsters. Maestro knew he could explode into violence easily. It had become second nature, no matter that the instincts hadn’t been natural to him.
The town of Sea Haven was very quiet so early in the morning. The street was mostly empty, and they had no trouble finding parking directly in front of the tea shop called the Floating Hat. The sign was a hat made of wood. The name Floating Hat was intriguing, but other than the cups that looked like hats in the windows, and the bells shaped like hats on the door, the shop had nothing at all to do with hats.
The Floating Hat was not only a tea shop but an organic bath and lotion shop. With bay windows on either side of the door facing the street, when one first looked, the shop appeared to be on the small side. The shop was really quite spacious, spreading out behind the bay windows and going back the whole depth of the building. Behind the counter, there was at least one more room and another exit.
One window held the intriguing hat-shaped cups, an assortment of teas and stacked caddies of delicious-looking scones and pastries. The other window held lotions and bath products. The division was the same in the shop, with products for sale on one side and tables and chairs, as well as a few booths, on the other side. Most tables were for two to four people, but there was one larger table that could handle at least six. The tables were a distance apart from the other half of the store, creating a feeling of openness.
Savage pulled open the door to the shop, setting the hat-shaped bells chiming, announcing their presence. A woman looked up from the counter and Maestro recognized her immediately. She sometimes worked at the roadhouse bar. She was learning bartending from Anya and Preacher.