Page 40 of Liar Byrd
So is my fear. The fear won’t go away until I’m out of this room, away from the big man who makes me afraid.
I reach for the trash can.
There’s a half-empty glass of water on the desk, closer to me than to Makhi. I hadn’t noticed it from the door. All my attention was onhim. Now I notice it.
I don’t mean to do it.
Maybe I do.
Maybe there’s more rage hiding inside me than I knew.
So I do it.
“Fuck!” Makhi explodes out of his seat, brushing at the water soaking through the front of his pants. The half-empty glass of water lies on its side on the desk, now empty.
I move quickly, grabbing the trash can with hands that shake only a little, emptying it into my bag, and then returning the trash can to its place. I carry the basket of cleaning supplies in my left hand and walk out.
Fast.
The large Southern man has his head thrown back, a belly-aching laugh pouring out of him I can’t remember hearing before, or if I ever have.
The sound curls around me like hot wisps of smoke—warming me, somehow.
“Shit, that has to be the funniest thing I’ve seen in years,” he laughs, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, blind or indifferent to the dark glare Makhi is shooting him.
“It wasn’t that funny, Vonn,” Makhi grumbles, snatching the handful of napkins that Nash passes him.
Pulling the door open to slip out, I tell myself not to look back right before I do it.
My gaze snags on him.
Vonn.
The one with the forearms covered with tattoos.
His eyes are a little less terrifying when the corners are creased with a smile.
He nods at me. Just once. Like I’m a lady in a fancy dress and he’s a cowboy or sheriff in one of those old black and white Westerns on TV.
I whip back around and sprint up the staircase. Only when I’m halfway up do I realize I’m still hugging a basket of cleaning supplies I need to put away.
Chapter 15
Makhi
“Who's the brown mouse?” My eyes track her until the door closes behind her.
“New maid,” Nash says, glaring at me.
He knows better than to tell me not to call her that. I’ll only do it more just to spite him.
I snort. “She looks the part. She'll fade right into the walls.”
But that isn’t true.
I like a woman who fights back. Who argues and gives as good as she gets. Not quiet maids who tiptoe around the house, barely making a sound.
Her eyes are striking, her face is sun-kissed, though her arms and legs are pale. From her dark blond brows and her nearly black hair, she is not a natural brunette. I pushed her, not knowing what to expect, and she surprised me.
