A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(84)

Carter scowled. “And what are ‘these’?” He slid the folder toward himself.

“Your resources for next week.”

Carter blinked, confused.

“I’m going away,” Kat clarified. “With my family, to Washington, DC.” She let her fingertips dance along the edging of the table. “It’s the anniversary of my father’s … We do it every year. I’ll be out of town from Sunday to Sunday.”

Carter’s face changed imperceptibly. He didn’t look happy. After scratching the back of his neck, he slid his hands into his pockets. “Um, yeah, okay.” The frown was tight above the bridge of his nose.

“Just do what you can,” Kat encouraged. “I’ve assigned you some more reading and questions, and we need to talk about an assessment paper …”

She trailed off when Carter’s dark, somber gaze met hers.

“Text me,” she said without thinking. “Or call me if you need any help. Don’t hesitate. I— Yeah, just, just call me.”

“I will.”

Kat tried to smile but it was harder work than she expected. Leaving to be with her family at this time of the year was one thing; leaving Carter for a whole week was another. She was suddenly very hollow indeed.

*

Carter was edgy: edgy and f*cking miserable, to be quite honest, despite it being Saturday night.

He took a huge gulp from the fifth bottle of Corona placed in his hand by Max and rubbed a finger along his eyebrow. Seriously, seven days. How hard could it be? He only saw his Peaches three times a week anyway, so technically it was only six hours he’d be missing.

Big. Deal.

He sighed. Yeah, it was a big deal. They’d had their last session a day ago and already he could feel an uncomfortable sensation of wanting and emptiness curl within his stomach at the thought of not seeing her.

Dammit.

Paul, Max’s head mechanic from the body shop, knocked Carter’s elbow, which was resting on the bar.

“What’s up?” he asked above the music. “You look like someone pissed on Kala.”

Carter stood from his hunched position. “Nothin’. I’m good.”

“Don’t lie,” Paul smirked. “You hate this club, don’t you? It’s all right to admit it to me. Max loves it, but I don’t see the appeal.”

Two statuesque blondes sauntered past, causing the two men to stare at their minimal clothing and flirtatious smiles.

Carter chuckled. He clinked his bottle against Paul’s. “Where is Max?” he asked, narrowing his eyes toward the dance floor in the hopes of spotting his friend.

“Outside having a smoke,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “With his new friend Laura. He’s shitfaced already, high as a damned kite, yammering on about some deal he’s doing tonight.”


Carter rolled his eyes in frustration. From the snippets he’d heard from the other boys at the shop, since Lizzie had left, Max had lost himself in many women. As much as Max played that he was okay and lived for bedding the females he did, Carter knew he was simply trying to f*ck the pain away. With the amount of coke Max was doing, it was clear that the one-night stands weren’t working. Asshole was on a slippery slope.

“He needs to get out of that shit,” Carter muttered.

“No doubt,” Paul agreed. “But he’s not going to listen to either of us, you know that. He’s in too deep. When that bitch left, she took the best parts of him with her.”

Carter knew that Max had hit the blow hard as soon as she’d left. It had been so difficult for Carter stuck in Kill, unable to be there for his friend. “Was it really bad?”