The Things She Says Read Online Free PDF

he tore this town apart, redneck by redneck, until someone else spilled. VJ was small, so small. How could anyone strike her with force hard enough to bruise?
    “Nobody. I tripped.” She shifted her gaze to the ground and pulled her chin from his fingers. “It was dark.”
    “Right.”
    The maids rearranged the furniture again, my darling, his mother used to say. Regardless of the continent, the excuses were equally as ineffective, as if he was both blind and stupid. This time, he wasn’t a scared kid, hiding in his room, creating stories in his head where he controlled what the characters did and it all turned out happy in the end.
    Fury curled his hands into fists. He’d never been able to help his mother, distancing himself further and further from a powerless situation. Distancing himself from the rage, the only defense he had against turning into his father.
    His parents had been madly, passionately in love once upon a time and their relationship had degenerated into ugliness Kris refused to duplicate. So now he employed strict compensation mechanisms: avoiding confrontation, avoiding serious relationships and staying detached. Women got sick of it fast, which he accepted. Maybe even encouraged. Kyla had been no exception.
    Now, it was too late to disengage and even he wasn’t good enough to pretend indifference. VJ needed his help. Like it or not, his role in this had a second act.
    “Really,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes. “It was an accident. Can I help you with the car?”
    “An accident.” He crossed his arms and stared down at her. “What did you trip over?”
    “Uh, the couch.”
    He nodded to the ugly blotch on her arm, which wrapped around her biceps in the shape of a hand, with half-moon cuts at the top of the purple fingers. “Did the couch have hands with fingernails?”
    Her face crumpled, and he spit out a curse. Panicked, he enfolded her into his arms, determined to do something, anything to help.
    Then he remembered VJ barely knew him. She’d smack him with her bag for being so familiar.
    But she didn’t. Instead she snuggled into his chest, sobbing. Her head fit into the hollow of his breastbone as if it had been shaped for her, and VJ’s slight frame kick-started a fiercely possessive, protective instinct. He tightened his arms and inhaled the coconut scent of her warm cinnamon-colored hair.
    After a minute, the bawling stopped. She wiggled away and took a deep breath. Her face was mottled and wet. She swiped at it with the hem of her giant T-shirt, this one with a cracked emblem for Tres Hombres Automotive Distributing, and looked up. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”
    “I do,” he said grimly. “You’ve had a rough night, which wasn’t helped by sleeping outside. Let me take you somewhere, as long as it’s not back to whoever hit you.”
    “I didn’t sleep outside,” she protested. “I’m on my way to work. That’s the only reason I’m out this early.”
    “You have a concrete-patterned print down the side of your face. The other side,” he clarified as she tentatively touched the bruises. She obviously had no clue how much practice he had in seeing through a woman’s lies. Normally, he’d be infuriated with her attempt at deception, but instead, the urge to take action, to fix things for her, unfolded.
    “Get in the car.” He swore, colorfully, but mindful enough of the offensive content to do it in Greek. “I forgot. Something’s wrong with the car. Can you give me the number to your garage?”
    Out of nowhere, she burst into tears again.
    He rubbed her shoulder and said the first thing that came to mind, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t a dig at your mechanical skills. I’d love it if you’d look at my car. Please.”
    “Don’t apologize,” she grumbled, sniffling. “That only makes it worse.”
    “Um, this seems to be the sole situation where it’s wrong for a guy to apologize. Can you possibly explain what wouldn’t be