Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
So I just smile instead. So big it feels like it's going to crack my lips.
Someone bumps into me from behind, knocking me forward into Addison.
Riley scowls daggers at the man until he mutters a quick apology and scurries out of view.
"Come on." She loops her arm through mine. "Let's go sit before we get trampled."
"I don't even know where my seat is," I mutter, reaching for my lanyard to check the seat number stamped on the back.
"Doesn't matter." Riley waves me off. "You're sitting with us up front. You can tell us about your daughter and your life before you inherited this company, and I can tell you all the reasons we need another female CEO in this city. None of which have anything to do with Kasen, by the way."
"Riley," Addison says, her voice soft.
"What?" Riley pauses, a frown pulling at her lips. "Oh! That wasn't me trying to get you to spill the beans about your daughter's dad. You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to tell us."
"There isn't much to tell," I murmur as we squeeze through the crowd. "We met, fell in love young, and got married. And then he was killed, so I moved to San Diego with my aunt and had Brinley there."
It's the same answer I give everyone…complete bullshit. But the truth? Well, I've never had that. I wish I did, though.
God, I wish I did.
Chapter Two
Priest
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, peering out at the crowd already gathering around the main stage, waiting for Winter's set. It's a goddamn madhouse out there. There are bodies as far as I can see. Thousands of people are crammed into the arena for the festival, leaving standing room only.
"Welcome to the big leagues, fucker." Memphis Hughes smacks me on the back, his blue eyes shining as he grins at me. "Do us all a favor and don't shit yourself, yeah?"
"How about you get fucked?" I growl, flipping him off.
He throws his head back, laughing in response. The asshole. I swear to Christ, the man is never serious about anything. Typical drummer. But he and I have gotten close since I joined Winter's band a few months ago. He's a solid motherfucker.
Me? Well, I guess we'll see. If I've ever played a show this big, I don't remember it. Don't remember much about much, honestly. My life started six years ago. Everything before that is a great, big blank.
I know I came from somewhere, but I don't know where. And I know I was going somewhere, but I don't know where I was going, either. Everything in between is a void too, sucked away in a black hole of Jamais vu and retrograde amnesia.
Six years ago, the policía found me tied to a chair, clinging to life, when they raided a trap house in Guadalajara, Mexico. Don't know how I got there, how long I'd be there, why I was there, or what I did to get myself tied up inside.
All I know is that I've got a goddam hole in my heart that won't heal, nightmares that refuse to go away, and more questions than there are answers. I've told myself for years that I need to just let it go and settle into this new life—that I need to be Priest, the man I became when I woke up in the hospital—but I don't even know who the fuck he is. Who I am.
How do you become someone new when you don't know who you were to begin with? How do you start over when you don't know where you're starting from? I've asked myself the same goddamn questions a thousand times, and I still don't know the answers.
I've spent years trying to glue together whatever shattered pieces of my life remain. I've cracked skulls and broken bones and did what I had to do. And all it got me was scraps of information. I've only ever found just enough to know someone wanted me in that trap house. But I've never been able to find out who or why. No one is willing to talk.
Who did I piss off?
What the fuck did I do that was so goddamn bad that my whole life needed to end up this way?
Don't know.
But I know it started in this city. Nashville. I was able to piece together enough to know that. Even came back once, trying to make sense of it. But that got me nowhere. The cops thought I was having a goddamn mental health crisis when I tried to explain. I damn near ended up on a psych hold. I slipped away before they realized I had no proof that I was even supposed to be in this country.
When you have no identity…well, cops don't take too kindly to that shit. Been there, done that a few times now. It took Winter's husband, Ronan, months of back and forth with the Embassy to sort out an identity for me so I could get here legally this time. But he's former Special Ops, and he knows people who know people, so he made it happen.