Smoke and Steel (Wild West MC #2)(42)

“You thought you’d hooked yourself to an attorney, good money, good times, but he drives a shit car because he’s responsible and he doesn’t want a life burdened with debt, and that wasn’t what you’d signed on for?”

Okay.

No.

I mean, how fucking important to my life did he convince himself he was?

Did he pay attention to me at all?

Good God, how many men thought this way? How many men thought it was all about them, and the only purpose a woman had in her life was to land the man who would provide for her the way she wanted?

How many men were so convinced of their own self-importance, they couldn’t see what was sitting right in front of them.

I stood.

“We’re done.”

He stood too.

“Fuck that, Hellen. You and all your bitches are about the life. I’m totally not surprised Bree got scammed by that asshole. He was so suave, it was creepy. But she thought he was her path to a lifetime of Tiffany and Chanel, so she was blind to everything else.”

Maybe there was a hint of truth in that when it came to Bree.

But only a hint.

And “all my bitches” worked hard for what we had, and we didn’t ask anyone to give it to us.

Like I had never asked Bryan for one thing.

Not one fucking thing.

“I think if that’s how you feel, we should leave this where it is, and both get on with our lives,” I suggested.

“You don’t think you owe me an explanation for why you wasted a year of my life?”

“I don’t owe you anything, Bryan,” I stated coldly. “I didn’t ask for anything. I didn’t expect anything, except for you to be a decent person and treat me with respect. I ended it with you because you didn’t offer the latter. I’m finalizing it now because you’re proving you’re not the former either.”

“Don’t pretend that wasn’t your game,” he scoffed.

I secured my bag over my shoulder. “If you need to tell yourself that.”

I started to move away.

I didn’t finish because Bryan took hold on my arm.

Firm hold.

His fingers pressed in, and it hurt.

I looked at him, right in the eyes, because with my wedges, he was only an inch taller than me.

Core would be three.

“Take your hand off me.”

His face twisted, he opened his mouth…

And then…

“Yo.”

It came quietly.

We both turned our heads to see the big man who was the barista at Fortnum’s standing close, his eyes glued to Bryan. He had a lot of hair and a very bushy, long beard.

He was always low-key scary because he never seemed in a good mood, and a lot of the time, he was really loud.

But he made insanely delicious coffee.

Right now, though, there was nothing low-key about his scary.

And part of that was him being quiet.

“You can take your hand off her, or I can throw you through the window. Your choice. One second,” he threatened.

The threat was real, we both knew it, Bryan especially, because he didn’t take that second.

Though I knew that wasn’t the only reason he did it.

No way in hell would Bryan make a scene. He cared too much about what people thought of him, even strangers.

He let me go.

“Good,” the barista said. “Now get the fuck out of here, and I better never see you again, and by that I mean in here or anywhere.”

Bryan scowled at him, scowled at me.

He then moved to grab his coffee, but the barista grunted, “Hup.”

Bryan left the coffees on the table and stalked out.

The bell rang like a signal that was all over.

After that scene, sadly, I felt no relief.

“Like I’d let him take my coffee with him,” the barista muttered, openly offended.

I turned to the big man.

“Thanks.”

“You good?” he asked.

“I’m kind of bummed I had a yearlong relationship with that guy, but other than that, I’m okay.”

“Right. Just sayin’, next time you and your girls go on a righteous crusade, you call me.”

I blinked.

He grabbed my cup, slid a black Sharpie from behind his ear, took the cap off with his teeth and scrawled a phone number on it.

He put the cup down, recapped the marker, shoved it back into the mass of hair beside his head and refocused on me.

Then he said, “I got grenades.”

And with that, he returned to the espresso counter.

The redhead, who I was pretty sure was the owner, sidled closer.

“Um,” she started. “Tex kinda has an ear to all the goings-on in Denver.”

“You don’t say,” I replied.

She grinned.

Then she said, “He’s serious about calling him, and, well, the grenades.”

I blinked at her too.

How did these people know these things?

She winked at me.

Then she, too, walked away.





11





SOMEONE ELSE’S FUCKED-UP LIFE





Hellen





“I’m never taking Mom’s advice, not ever again.”