Trusting Molly (Silverstone) by Susan Stoker

Author:Susan Stoker [Stoker, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2021-07-12T18:30:00+00:00

Molly Smith wasn’t going to dump him. No fucking way.

Preston Weldon paced back and forth in his condo. His computer screen mocked him as he speared a hand through his hair in agitation.

She’d hooked up with a fucking mechanic. Maybe he wasn’t a mechanic exactly, but he might as well have been. The asshole owner of the truck she’d arrived in worked at a towing shop. What a fucking loser!

Preston was a respected cop. A security officer wasn’t exactly a cop, but it was as close as he could get, thanks to the asshole psychologist who’d rejected him when he’d applied for a police officer position in Chicago. He wasn’t unstable like the bastard had implied, not in the fucking least. He’d had no right to judge him like that. He hadn’t even known him!

He was better than every single cop on the street. He wasn’t afraid to use his weapon like most of them were. He’d fucking shoot a perp between the eyes without a second thought if he had the chance.

Preston snatched up the bottle of bourbon on the table as he passed and took a long swig as he continued to pace. His phone rang, and after seeing it was his boss, he threw the device on the table, not wanting to talk to the man.

He was supposed to be at work today, but when he’d gotten a notification on the security camera app and seen that Molly had finally shown up at her fucking grandparents’ house, there was no way he could have let the opportunity to confront her, to show her she couldn’t hide from him, slip away. He’d deal with his asshole boss later, come up with another excuse why he hadn’t shown up for his shift again.

He’d been fucking busy. Spending months looking for the stupid bitch—only to learn she’d gone and shacked up with someone who wasn’t fit to clean his boots!

The thought of Molly in the other man’s bed made Preston see red, and he punched his living room wall, grunting at the satisfying dent in the cheap drywall. Molly was his. He hadn’t even gotten to fuck her before she’d tried to dump him.

That wasn’t how things worked. He was Preston Weldon. Women begged to go out with him. They respected his authority, and they never, ever tried to hide from him.

Molly was going to pay for making him look bad. He’d bragged about his girlfriend to everyone at work, and when more and more time had passed and no one had seen them together, they’d thought he was lying. The more he’d protested, the more they’d laughed at him. Molly had humiliated him.

He’d bring her back to Chicago kicking and screaming if it came to that. She’d do exactly what he wanted her to do . . . or she’d suffer.

Taking another deep swallow of the bourbon, Preston sat at his computer, then slammed the bottle down on the table next to the keyboard. Liquor splashed out, but he didn’t even care.

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