What the fuck was that?
Cash's baby niece died twenty-two years ago. Fucking hell, the thing hadn't even been born to begin with. She's supposed to be dead. She was dead. This was impossible. Cash Wolfe was the last living Wolfe. Everyone knows that.
I quickly dig out my pack of smokes from my pocket, slamming it into the heel of my hand.
I needed to call him.
No. Fuck that. I didn't need to do a damn thing.
I open my pack of cigarettes and pull one out, setting it between my lips. Digging out my lighter, I flick it so the flame lights the end of the cigarette. I suck in a large drag, finally stopping my angry walk down the sidewalk.
Instantly, the buzz eases the anxiety building in my head, the anxiety and rage slowly subside enough to where I can think straight.
I look around and see I've walked right past my work, Tessier's, in my blind rage. So, I plop my ass down outside of Mckellen's Irish Pub and suck on my cancer stick again as I stare at the Gentleman's club I own a few doors down.
"Jesus foking' Christ."
That girl isn't my problem. No matter how sad and beautiful she looked, no matter how drawn I felt towards her, I had no obligation to her. If anything, the obligation I had was to him.
I needed to call him. What I should be doing is pulling out my cell and calling him up.
But, I continue smoking, sitting on the stone steps in front of the entrance to the shitty Irish pub.
Bloody hell, I'd love to hear his astonished reaction when he finds out another Wolfe is walking about in Spillwater.
The satisfying thought makes me chuckle and I feel the smoke billow from my mouth and nostrils.
I go over her words in my mind, wishing I'd gotten out of there sooner. But, what was I supposed to do? Just walk right past the most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen?
Christ...That fucking thin neck. My gut twists, thinking about how soft it looked.
"Shit," I shake my head, angry with myself. I always seemed to get myself into trouble. Especially when women are involved.
Townsend, I guess that's her name, had told me that a lawyer had contacted her three days ago. My guess is Blackwell, he and Cash were close. When the rest of the town segregated Wolfe, or I should say when Wolfe turned into the town's hermit, Blackwell remained the only one to keep the ties to him.
I stand quickly, sticking the cigarette back into the side of my mouth, and then remove my cell from my pocket. Scrolling through my contacts list until I see "Blackwell and Mason".
I click the dial button and put the phone to my ear, then suck in another drag.
"Thank you for calling-" Helen Skellars answers with her raspy voice and I remove the cigarette from my lips, holding it between my middle and forefinger.
"Helen, it's Beau Tessier. I need to speak with Blackwell."
"Oh, hello Mr. Tessier. I'm sorry but I'm afraid Mr. Blackwell has left the office to meet with a client."
"Is this client Townsend Wolfe?" I ask, immediately furious but hold it together for the sake of getting information.
"I'm sorry sir, I can't say," Helen answers meekly.
I exhale a growl.
"Mrs. Skellars," I keep the coyness in my voice, "All I have to do is take a wee drive up Route 18 and turn up onto Wolfe' Lane to find him. Now, I'm a busy man and don't want to waste my time and energy to verify that Blackwell has taken on Miss Wolfe as a client. Just tell me, please. I need to know, for the sake of the girl, as you should understand."
When there's a second of silence, I know I've cracked her, "Yes, sir. He's meeting Miss Walker now at the property."
I don't bother saying anything else to Helen, I disconnect the phone call and flick the cigarette from my fingers, stalking back down the sidewalk as the rain starts up again and I enter Tessier's.
This shit's about to ruin my fucking day.
I love seeing inside another character's head.
A lot, as well as nothing, was revealed.
I am not British so I'd like to thank my wonderful English Teachers on here! The first time I published this my only British slang was what I could learn from Harry Potter and Love Island!
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