Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
It happened.
Maybe it even happened often enough for them not to take me at my word when things looked so definitive.
But I would never, ever take my own life.
It didn’t matter what happened, what you told me, how you might have ruined my life.
See, they couldn’t know this, wouldn’t even care if I told them, but my best friend in high school had taken her own life in her college dorm during our freshmen year.
I’d never known grief like that before or after.
To this very day, I caught myself wanting to call her and tell her something, to laugh over ice cream or go take a rain walk to “soothe our souls.”
I never wanted anyone else to feel that loss like I had to. Not if I could help it anyway.
I simply… wouldn’t do it.
I wouldn’t attempt it.
Nothing.
I had no freaking idea what had actually happened, but I had to find out.
In seventy-two hours, apparently.
I couldn’t even begin to explain how utterly impossible it was for me to disappear for three days.
And if it ever got out that I’d been committed against my will?
“Shit,” I hissed, running a hand over my face.
I needed help.
But my purse and phone were nowhere to be found.
And pretty soon, I knew what was going to happen.
I was going to be stripped and have no access to anyone but the psych ward staff for three days.
Casting a glance around, I noticed that one of the ladies who was assigned to watch us “crazy people” was occupied with something on her phone.
I reached my hand under the sheet, finding my smartwatch still on my wrist.
I had one contact linked to it.
Cam.
Taking a deep breath, I did my best to shoot out the message without looking too much.
Help. 5150. Didn’t do it.
That was the best I could manage before the woman looked in my direction again.
If there was anyone in the world who could help me, it was Cam.
He would knock on the door of every lawyer, every judge, every single person who could try to get me out of this situation.
I just had to give him a little time.
Until then, I was going to need to do my best to come off as, well, sane.
Because that was exactly what I was. Even if the situation was crazy. Even if I felt like I was losing a bit of my grip on reality since there were blanks in my memory, since I knew I didn’t drug myself or slice my wrist.
So what happened?
Was that not the Chinese at the door?
If not, who was it?
What did they have against me?
Was I supposed to actually… die?
Who would that help?
“Miss Coulter?” the doctor asked, coming in.
And so it begins…
Whether I liked it or not, whether I needed it or not, it looked like I was going to the mental institution.
CHAPTER TWO
Brock
“Who are you hiding from now?” Tig asked as I rushed into his office, pressing back against the door. “Pretty widow?”
“I wish,” I said, grimacing. “I’m hiding from Terry,” I admitted.
“Terry. The delivery woman?” Tig asked, swiveling in his chair to face me.
“Yeah.”
“Explain that one to me. The only women you hide from are the ones you’ve hooked up with.”
“Yep.”
“Terry’s gay.”
“One hundred percent,” I agreed. “Her girlfriend, however…”
“For chrissakes, Brock,” Tig sighed, dropping his pen on his desk so he could properly rub his fingers between his brows.
“In my defense, I didn’t know she was Terry’s girl until the sweat was dry and I saw the picture on the nightstand. So, really, this is more on her than it is on me. Crap,” I hissed as the door started to push open.
“Get the fuck out of the way, Brock,” Sawyer said, making me step back so he could move inside.
“So you’ve heard,” Tig said.
“That he got horizontal with Terry’s girl? Yeah.”
“Not just horizontal. She’s a former gymnast, did you know that?” I asked, looking between the two of them.
“Probably one of the reasons Terry picked her,” Tig said.
“You know you’re going to have to handle this, right?” Sawyer asked, walking over to Tig’s desk to drop a folder. “Terry is here almost daily. You won’t be able to hide forever. Just take your ass-kicking like a man and get it over with.”
“Easy for you to say. I’ve seen Terry at the gym. She out-benches me.”
“Man, you were in black ops type shit for over a decade, and you’re scared of one person?” Sawyer scoffed.
Admittedly, we’d been through some shit. We’d done some gnarly shit.
But that was back then.
I’d done my best to put that shit behind me, to focus on the lighter, more enjoyable parts of life.
Like touring the bedsheets of all the gorgeous women who’d have me.
Sure, I did some dark shit for work still. But that was work, not my personal life.
I didn’t enjoy confrontation anymore.
And I sure as fuck didn’t want to be on the receiving end of yet another pissed-off mate—or former mate—of someone I’d taken to bed. My wrist still ached in the rain from the last fucker who’d tracked me down and caught me off-guard.