Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,170
two-bit gangster, but in his mind, he’s Al Capone and El Chapo spliced together.
“Gracie, I’m scared for you and Uncle Nelson,” Noelle whimpers, her voice so low. “You need to call the police, the FBI, somebody. Get help!” she hisses. “Go to the law before it’s too late.”
My stomach churns, pushing angry bile up my throat. My head is pounding; I still haven’t had anything to eat, and now with this bomb I’ve had dropped on my head?
Appetite, gone.
The police can’t do anything for us. No one can. The time to risk something like that was years ago, not while my father might be down to his last precious days on earth.
Dad doesn’t need even more stress, his hourglass running out under the gun. Literally and figuratively with constant interrogations. Maybe they’d even lock him up.
Years ago, while working at the railroad yards in Milwaukee, my father took on a side gig helping transport goods that weren’t quite legal.
Actually, it was as illegal as it gets. Both the transporting and the goods.
“I just...I thought Uncle Nelson was done with all that mob stuff,” Noelle says quietly. “I thought he got out when he bought your farm years ago? When you moved out of the city?”
My teeth pinch together so hard it hurts.
He had gotten out, or so we thought.
For a little while, life was good, until my mom got sick and the medical bills started coming fast and furious. Dad reached out to his old associates for a loan.
At the time, Grendal said it wasn’t a loan, but a gift, for Dad’s past services. Then the bad luck started, and Dad found out fast what kind of strings came with accepting that gift—vandalism, a fire in the barn, and a string of other events that truly had nothing to do with random chance.
It left us destitute, barely scraping by on miscellaneous pumpkin sales plus Dad’s railroad pension. Clay doled out more money, and this time he expected repayment—with interest.
We gave him everything we had, even offered the farm, but it wasn’t enough. He insisted on his pound of flesh. I think even if we’d won the lottery, it still wouldn’t have been enough.
He knew what he wanted out of this all along, and it has nothing to do with money.
“Grace? Are you still there?” Noelle asks. “I’m sorry. I know it isn’t your fault. I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.”
My stomach revolts. The bitter taste of bile burns my throat, coats my tongue, and I swallow hard not to gag.
“Still here,” I tell her. Still hopelessly cursed. “Dad’s out, just like I’ve told you for years. Don’t worry, you aren’t in any danger.” I’m certain of that. Clay Grendal only wants one thing.
I know because I had to face the devil himself, and I’ll never, ever do it again.
“Where are you? Are you safe?” Noelle asks.
“North Dakota now. Don’t know the town, but we’re not that far from the Montana line.” I turn around, pacing the small area between the vanity and the stalls, desperate to get my head screwed back on.
“Oh, Grace. I’m sorry. I truly, truly am.”
“I know you are, Noelle. I understand. Family and little ones first.”
There’s a long pause, then I hear her take a strained breath.
“What’re you going to do?”
Boom. The million-dollar question I don’t think I could pry a dollar from.
I don’t have a clue.
Here we are, almost flat broke, stuck in the middle of flipping nowhere, while Mother Nature has major PMS.
“Don’t worry,” I say again. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll call you in a couple of days to check in.”
“Oh, please do. I hate this again, Grace. If it was just me—”
“I know, Noelle. But James is right. Listen to your husband. You have to think about your family.” Which is exactly what I have to do, too. “I’ll call you soon.”
“Okay. I really am sorry. Do you want us to contact anyone if...if you don’t check in?”
I rub at my eye, amazed at how hard it is to answer such a simple, but loaded question.
But if I’m not in any position to call my cousin two days from now, her running to the police won’t help anything.
It’ll just put her family in the crosshairs they’re trying to avoid.
“No, don’t bother. I know you mean well. Bye, Noelle.” I click off, drop the phone on the counter, and hang my head over the sink.
What the hell am I going to do now?
Pushing myself back up, I pick up my phone, enter a stall and use the facilities, with my heart sinking lower and lower. There’s nowhere else for us. Nowhere.
Exiting the stall, I wash my hands. As I reach for the paper towels, I see a candle sitting on top of the metal towel holder. Not quite up to normal safety standards but it’s what’s lying next to the candle that truly catches my eye.
A match. A spent one with its end charred black.
It makes me think of Mom, and despite the hopelessness inside me, a grin tugs at my lips.
If you’ve got a light, you’ve still got a wish.
She must’ve said that line a thousand times. I don’t know if she stole it from a movie, a song, a book, a story her grandmother told her, or what.
Sometimes it haunts me, but right now, I know my wish like I know this sickly adrenaline hangover coursing through my veins.
I wish this wasn’t my life.
I wish I could wake up in a cold sweat, toss back a glass of water, and get out of bed.
I wish I could start the day living a boring normal Wisconsin life. Not this lethal nightmare.
But it’s not a horrific dream.
It’s as real as can be, and this is a world where wishes rarely come true.
This is a life where I traded my faith in wishing to keep my sanity.
I stare at the blackened match for a few more seconds and shrug. We’re not totally beaten yet.
My credit cards aren’t quite maxed out, and I have enough to put us up in some cheap motel for a little while. So onward we go.
Walking out of the bathroom, I also wish I’d drank my coffee before calling Noelle. It’s sure to be cold now.
Lukewarm coffee has nothing on my insides when I reach the end of the hall and spot the man who’s just walked through the door.
He’s tall. Bald. A human brick in neutral colors. A mosaic of shapes runs up one side of his face, more like a sinister mask than a tattoo.
I’ve never seen him before, but my instincts tell me he’s more bad news—what else?—even before his eyes lock on Dad and he’s heading for our table.
It. Can’t. Be.
I shoot around the end of the bar, and in my hurry to get to my father, I bump into the tall glum man dressed in business attire who’s on his feet and making his way toward the bathrooms.
“Sorry!” I say and continue rushing toward the table.
Baldy has already arrived, though, and I can hear him snarling behind a nasty smirk.
“Never thought I’d find your ass in this storm. You finally ready to talk sense, old man, or what?”
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About Nicole Snow
Nicole Snow is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author. She found her love of writing by hashing out love scenes on lunch breaks and plotting her great escape from boardrooms. Her work roared onto the indie romance scene in 2014 with her Grizzlies MC series.
Since then Snow aims for the very best in growly, heart-of-gold alpha heroes, unbelievable suspense, and swoon storms aplenty.
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