Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Yes, I knew.
I knew the second I took off that everyone would be livid, and no one would even try to understand except Lyssie.
And I still made my decision despite the avalanche of crap guaranteed to roll over me.
A decision I’m still making, standing my ground, unmovable and determined to put myself first for once.
“I like it here,” I tell him, lifting my chin. “It’s quiet and peaceful and there are bees.”
“Bees?” He laughs bitterly. “Seriously? Again with the fucking bees. I hoped you’d grow up when we got engaged.”
“Funny. I thought you’d be less of an asshole.”
His face hardens. I’m ready for him to come at me, barking empty threats, cursing my riches to rags.
But Archer moves faster than either of us.
One second, he’s immobile.
The next, he has Holden by the arm and he’s throwing him out the still-open front door.
“Time to leave, you yappy goddamned prick. You don’t get to insult her on my property,” he growls. “Leave. Right the hell now before I call the police.”
“The police? For what?” To my surprise, Holden holds his ground. The porch light outside gilds his hair, casting sharp shadows on his face from his tormented grimace. “She’s my fiancée, you asshole. I should call them on you.”
“I’m not your anything, Holden. Not anymore.” My voice is amazingly steady. “I left you the ring. It’s over.”
His face wrinkles.
It’s like he’s on a spring when he jumps up and lunges forward, but Archer steps up and catches him with ease, slamming a hand into Holden’s chest that spins him off-kilter again.
“Off my property. Final warning before I get you booked for criminal harassment and trespassing.”
“Fuck you, man. You don’t threaten me with cops. Do you even know who I am?”
I can’t see Archer’s face with his back to me, but I can imagine the expression—cold, unyielding, terrifying, lethal.
I saw it when he jumped between us, and it made my blood run cold.
“Why the fuck do you think I care?” Archer spits.
“I’m Holden Corb—”
In one smooth motion—almost too fast to even see—Archer takes Holden’s arm, twists it behind his back, and shoves him violently toward his car. The movement throws Holden off-balance, leaving him face down in the dirt.
“You’re leaving. End of discussion,” Archer finishes.
Without hesitation, he marches forward, rips Holden up, and perp walks him to the sleek black car he drove here before he releases him again.
“Are you insane?” Holden whispers.
I run outside, sharp gravel dragging against my feet.
“Archer, no, it’s not worth it! Don’t get yourself in trouble. Not for him,” I whisper loudly before raising my voice. “Holden, just go. Stop fighting. Go home and tell Dad—tell him I’m not coming home.”
Crap, I’m going to cry again.
Why is my defense mechanism crying?
And why does it always have to happen around Archer of all people?
Looking back, Holden glowers at us both, his gaze fixed on Archer and his fists balled up for a second too long before he finally slides into the driver’s seat.
I want to run up and start pelting his car with rocks, but none of my limbs are working.
If he found me, Dad will be right behind him, I’m sure. Especially when Holden delivers my message back home.
I know he will. He’s never been the subtle type.
Just not the part where I said I’d never go back.
Not the part where I gushed about the bees.
Certainly not the part where Archer gave him a sorely needed ass kicking for my sake.
He might just claim Archer assaulted him. Another lie, of course.
Nothing about the way angry, bitter Holden tried to box me in that caused this scuffle.
But that wouldn’t stop him from bending the facts to fit his narrative. When you grow up in politics and big money, it’s hard not to master that skill.
As Holden’s car disappears down the road, Archer turns back to me. His face is angular, cheekbones sharper in his rage, and when his gaze drops to my bare feet, he curses, low and harsh.
“Fuck, Winnie. Your feet. Get back inside before you step on something sharp.”
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” I think I’m trembling. Or maybe we’re having an earthquake. That would explain my irrational reaction and the way I think I’m shaking. “I’m terribly sorry about this, Archer. I never thought he’d come here and stir the pot like this. I thought maybe—”
“Winnie, enough.”
Even my chin trembles, but I do my best to clamp my teeth together and face him.
Here it comes.
“You can’t stay here another second with assholes like him prowling around. Not one more second,” he says, plunging daggers ringing in his voice. Rage burns his eyes, a hot blue flame that threatens to consume me.
I nod limply like I knew this would be the response.
“I get it. I know. I’m sorry and I’ll go.”
He glances away with his lip curled, staring into the night where Holden’s car vanished, even though we can’t even hear it anymore.