Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 136425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 682(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 682(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Devi did, too, but she was supposed to wait here, and she didn’t think this guy would take her normal fuck-off speech with aplomb. She was supposed to not make scenes.
Also, he was way not in her age group. She pegged him somewhere in his sixties, though he could be younger. He hadn’t taken great care of himself. He looked haggard but in a hungry, burn-the-world-around-him way.
“Yeah, I studied a bit when I was younger. I knew a woman. So smart. She was into chemistry at the time, but she also loved folklore.” He sounded smart, his voice somewhat melodic, but there was a menacing undertone. Like he knew something she didn’t. “So I remember that the Welsh god of the dead was named Arawn. He had a bunch of hellhounds, and you had to be invited into his version of hell.”
“His version of hell was most people’s version of heaven,” she replied and looked to the door. Damn. She wanted to leave. It was the strangest feeling.
“Well, I suppose everyone has their own take on things. It’s all about perspective, isn’t it?” He took the beer from the bartender, who then stepped back and moved to the customer at the end of the bar. “What some would call heaven others think of as hell.”
She glanced at the clock. Only a few minutes more and she could go home.
She was not thinking of that rundown farm as home.
She guessed it was all about perspective. “I suppose so.”
“I’ve always found it interesting how travel changes your perspective. Like what most Americans consider a complete hellhole is how a lot of the world lives,” he said.
Oh, he was a philosopher asshole. “I assure you there are people in America who know what a hellhole is and who try to help. And plenty who don’t. Like everywhere in the world. I know a lot of people who try to make the world a better place.”
“Do you?”
Okay, so she was trying to be a better spy. “Sure. Like the people who feed the homeless, and I’ve got a friend who is studying to be a therapist who specializes in helping children recover from trauma.” Daisy was starting school soon, and Devi thought this was going to be the job her friend stuck with for the rest of her life. Her calling.
“I’ve always thought therapy was a racket,” he replied with what she was sure he thought of as an inviting smile. “You know there are things that happen to us that we should shove down and things we should use as fuel. That’s what trauma truly is. It’s fuel for change.”
Okay, creepy and completely wrong, but she didn’t care enough to argue. “An interesting take. I need to find the loo.”
“You fit in well,” he said with another smile. “Calling it a loo instead of a bathroom. When you get back you can tell me where you come from. I hear a little of a Texas twang in there.”
Creepier still. She nodded and slid off the barstool. She wouldn’t be coming back. She was going to find herself another way out. “You have a good ear.”
She left her poor pint behind. She’d wanted that pint. She moved toward the back of the pub where the toilets were located according to the hand-painted signs. It was good to know that she could attract creepers even here in rural Wales.
Devi pulled out her phone and glanced down at it. Lacey was going to be a few minutes late, according to her text.
“Hey, lady,” a masculine voice said. He had an English accent. He was dressed in a soccer—football—jersey that proclaimed him to be a fan of Glossop North End. Whatever that was. He looked to be close to her age, and his smile actually did seem friendly. He was probably a big old nerd. “Uhm, not sure how to tell you this but you shouldn’t drink that beer.”
Fuck. They were in the hall, out of view of the bar. “Why? I mean I can guess. Did he slip something in?”
The man nodded. He had curly, dark hair and wore jeans and sneakers. “Yeah. I mean I think he might have. I saw his hand move over the top of the mug. He’s bothering you, right?”
“He is trying to pick me up, and now I know he’s a criminal who was going to take advantage of me. Should I call the pol…” She couldn’t. There would be far too many questions and paperwork, and Zach would likely freak out, and Lacey wouldn’t like the cops looking at them when she was so close to her mission starting. “Uhm, maybe I should sneak out. I thank you… I didn’t catch your name.”
He held out a hand. “Tim. I’m down here visiting my cousin. He didn’t see it. Told me I shouldn’t get involved, but I couldn’t let you walk into that trap.”