Prologue

Iwrinkle my nose up at the empty coffee can in front of me. Josh cringes as I stare into the can where there’s supposed to be over a thousand dollars stashed. I had the can hidden in my cupboard, pushed way into the back and beneath canned goods where no one would think to look, but apparently, that had been a silly thought. It had taken Josh exactly three months to turn my life into one drama after the other. We’ve been together for the better part of six, but the last three months is when shit really hit the fan. I could forgive the cheating. I wouldn’t take him back, but I could forgive it. After all, he did his best to keep me from falling in love with him. I can even forgive the penchant for spending money at the local casino and losing track of time while I wait for a text from him. But stealing my money for more gambling?

That’s a hard fucking line.

“What the fuck is this?” I scowl, turning the empty can toward Josh so he can see how empty it is, as if my jingling air didn’t hit home. “You stole from me?”

Josh immediately launches into a blubbering mess of begging and excuses, always the victim. He’d done the same when I’d caught him cheating right before this. His fake tears haven’t even had time to dry. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he wails. “I’m going to pay you back. I just really needed it.”

“For what?” I hiss. “Did you break an arm and go to the ER? Got medical bills adding up?”

He winces. “No. I, uh, the casino had a. . .”

“Had a what?” I ask, my voice heavy with my hatred. I’ve had bad boyfriends before, but this one takes the fucking cake. “What did the casino have, Josh?”

He seems to shrink in on himself, which is interesting. Josh isn’t the meek kind of guy. He wears gaudy silk shirts and white pants. He likes gold chains and talking about himself more than anything else. But he’d been decent in bed and he seemed to like spending time with me. God, I’ve been such an idiot. I’d known the asshole was love-bombing me, but I’ve been so desperate for any affection that I accepted it and kept him around. This mess is purely my fault for ignoring the red flags. I really need to stop seeing red flags and painting my nails to match. I glance down at my nails, painted perfectly red right now. Fuck, maybe I’m the one who needs therapy.

“It was double point night,” he finally admits. “I thought I could make back what I took and more. I thought I’d replace it and you’d never notice.”

A flat out lie. Gambling addicts don’t just stop when they’re ahead. The temptation to put it back in when you’re winning is the whole trouble. He would have won and then immediately spent it again.

“There was over a thousand dollars in here,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “You decided it was all yours for the taking?”

“I’m sorry!” The tears suddenly streaming from his eyes again do nothing but disgust me. Not because I don’t like men to show their emotions. We stan a man with emotional intelligence around here. But these tears are so clearly fake, an act he’s learned perfectly for the times he’s caught on his bullshit. Of course. Another narcissist. I’m done with men.

“Please forgive me! I’ll never do it again! I’ll pay you back! I promise!” he cries, dropping to his knees and begging me like it’ll help his situation.

“Oh, you’re going to pay me back, you asshole,” I growl. “For fuck’s sake, Josh. You’re supposed to be my boyfriend. I’m supposed to be able to trust you. And look at this mess.” I shake my head and slam the empty can back on the counter. “Coupled with the texts from Lisa?—”

“I told you she was lying!” Josh interrupts. Despite his world-class crying performance, he suddenly stops to declare his innocence on the cheating front. As if remembering he’s supposed to be groveling, he covers his face with his hands and starts practicing whatever it is that makes him cry in his mind. Probably losing at the slot machines. Or having his dick chopped off. That should make most men cry.

“I might have believed you had you not also been proven to be lying about my money,” I say roughly. And what a blessing this really is. My dumbass might have given him a second chance despite Lisa reaching out to me. Apparently, she’d seen us on my Instagram and was also dating Josh. What’s worse is she’s been dating him for a year. I’m the other woman in the situation, or one of many. She’s already found three others and has been updating me. I might have been an idiot over one, but four? I’d sent her a text back that Josh had stolen my money as soon as I’d found it and she’d replied that she went to check her own stash only to find it gone as well. Josh has been playing us all.

“Baby, please,” Josh tries. “I won’t ever hurt you again. Just give me another chance.”

He kneels before me, his knees popping with his movement along the floor as I back up. Tears run from his eyes as he continues to beg, to blubber about how he didn’t mean any of it, that the other woman didn’t mean anything. It’s always the same excuse, isn’t it? Men like this have a pattern they stick to. He’ll probably go to all three others and pull the same stunt. I’m only first because I caught it.

“I love you,” he cries. “I love you so much. Please, baby. I won’t ever hurt you again. I promise I’ll pay it back.”

I stare down at him, my chest aching. Even with him, I’d been lonely. And he’d never made me come despite being decent otherwise. I’d always had to finish myself off. Funny how that works. My own mind and body had been warning me and I’d ignored it for six months. Now I have to pay for my mistake just as he does.

“Get out,” I say, numb.

“Kate, please! I love you! I?—”

“Get the fuck out,” I repeat, my voice harder. “I don’t ever wanna see you again.”

The tears dry up immediately as he gets to his feet, his face hard, almost as if it had all been an act like I thought. Fuck, how had I not seen the narcissism before? He’d put on the performance of a lifetime and then turned it off as if it was nothing. I’m never painting my nails red again. It’s a curse.

Josh wipes his face off and looks me up and down. Anger flickers in his eyes, and I reach for the pepper spray on the table beside me just in case. “You weren’t worth it anyways, fat bitch.”

I raise my brows at him. Insults. I think these dudes all follow the same how-to manual. “You have three seconds to get out before I call the cops and report the theft.”

“You’re going to die alone,” he spits, turning toward the door. “You and that stupid cat.”

Anger fills me. You can spit insults at me all you’d like but don’t you dare talk about my William like that!

“Yeah, so what?” I spit, following him to the door. “At least I can come when I fuck myself. I never came with you. I faked it! Being alone is clearly a better option.”

The expression on his face is priceless as I slam the door on him. I immediately lock it and slide the deadbolt into place, making sure he can’t come back inside. The pepper spray stays clutched in my hand, but I reach for my phone with the other in case I need to call the cops.

He kicks the door. “Bitch!” When I glance through the peephole, I watch him turn and start descending the stairs. He adjusts his leather jacket as if planning to go on the prowl again, and disappears.

Suddenly needing to make sure my other stash is okay, I rush to my bathroom and pop open the doors beneath the sink. I reach back behind everything to find the cookie tin that holds most of my rainy-day stash. I pop it open and curse to find it as empty as the coffee can.

“Motherfucker!” I snarl, tossing the tin away in frustration. William Shakespurr comes to investigate and upon finding me on the ground, distraught, immediately begins trying to cheer my up by rubbing his tail across my face. “I was such an idiot, William,” I murmur, pulling him onto my lap and hugging him close.

He meows in agreement, but at least he doesn’t judge me too hard. Only with him in my arms do I feel safe enough to cry.

Even if Josh Holiday doesn’t fucking deserve my tears.

That fucking, money-stealing bastard.