Page 38 of Savage in the Streets
There’snothing more pathetic than a man sipping scotch, listening to ‘90s love songs, and reminiscing about the past.
I’m not one to throw myself pity parties, but after spending the day mulling over Mabel’s words and realizing that she’s right, it was the inevitable conclusion.
I’m never going to get back what I lost, but I could still have something good.
I set down my drink and pace my office, trying to unwind. There’s a big week coming up, so I have to keep my head clear, but damn—I’d do anything to be able to get shit-faced drunk, head out to the bar, and go balls-deep into the first bottle blonde that crosses my path.
What you really want to do, though, is bury yourself in the Savage Queen living your guest room.
Why does everything have to be so goddamn hard?
Focus on the case. The faster you can get her off, the sooner she hightails it out of here.
My mind is too exhausted to go over any more paperwork, so I lock up my office and retire to my bedroom. I have the weekend to prepare for Bailey’s pretrial conference, which should be more than enough time.
As I pass Bailey’s room, a muffled moan escapes through the door, followed by a low screech.
She’s having another nightmare. Poor thing.
Every once in a while, I hear her calling out at night. Sometimes for over an hour. I try not to intrude, but I stay vigilant at the door in case she needs me.
Which is probably a mistake because the last time I intervened, I ended up shoving my tongue down her throat, and if I hadn’t come to my senses, I would have gladly explored further south.
Judging by her reaction, she would have probably let you.
I shake the thought from my head as I stand watch at her door, hoping she’s okay.
Whatever she went through as a child, it wasn’t light. Once, she screamed out, “Don’t hurt her, Daddy,” and I damn near lost my mind with rage.
Go to her…
My hand finds the doorknob, but the logical side of my brain warns me of the repercussions.
Don’t be stupid. This is the dumbest thing you could do right now. You’re weak—eager for anything to numb the pain.
Bailey isn’t Carolyn, who was as pristine as she was proper. Cultured on the outside—
Wild on the inside…
I shake my head, forcing the dark thoughts from my mind.
Carolyn told me she loved me, then fucked her drug dealer, college professor, and half my friends. Women are dangerous. More trouble than they’re worth.
Then why is your hand still on the doorknob?
Just as I’m about to let go, the door flies open, and Bailey comes rushing into my arms.
She’s shaking, and when her cheek presses against my shoulder, I feel the wetness from her tears soak through my shirt.
“There, there,” I say, smoothing her hair back.
“Why me? Why’d this have to happen?”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re safe. I’m here with you.”
Her body melts into mine. She’s so light, it takes no effort to pick her up and carry her over to the sitting room couch.
“Let me get you a glass of water,” I offer.
