Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
But this life I am living right now? It is solely my choice.
Jake taught me on his visits that a woman’s body is her sole responsibility, and I could choose who touched it.
I liked the sound of that after having men who had so much power over me for so long. It felt good to have control.
And as it turned out, I was good at it.
I hadn’t worked out yet how I was good at many things.
The flashy things I have now, I make men pay for.
Up there for thinking, down there for fucking.
Leaving Jake was a big step for me because I love him. Not in a romantic way. He is a man who refuses to show feelings. He is cold in some ways and kind in many others. If I had something I could call family, it would be Jake.
His brother, on the other hand, I despise.
What an asshole.
A knock comes on my door, and I freeze at the sound.
“Avani.”
Groaning, I walk across the room and pull the door open for Destiny. “It’s my birthday this weekend, and I’m having a few friends over. Feel free to invite yours,” she announces with no preamble.
“I don’t have any friends.” I go to shut the door, but she stops it with her foot.
“Your boss. You can invite him.”
“Sure,” I tell her, smiling. Satisfied, she moves back so I can shut the door.
Ha! Like that’s going to happen. I don’t want Grayson in my house. Least of all in my space.
Talk about a nightmare waiting to happen.
Chapter 4
Maybe she’s a keeper, or not
Grayson
My first love is sex, and everything after that is fun.
For example, taking a life.
Sex and death.
They are two fickle things to me that somehow work for me.
I started out small, being contracted here and there. Kill someone, and I get paid.
I did it because I like money.
It’s simple, really.
I may have a few screws loose in my head, but they are my screws. And despite what others say, I do have limits.
I tend not to kill women, though saying I haven’t would be a lie. I killed one crazy bitch, but she’s probably better off six feet under for what she did to her children. Some people should not parent, and that crazy bitch was one of them, so do I regret killing her, no.
I’m thinking of making Avani my second female kill if she doesn’t walk in that fucking door sometime soon.
All week she has been late, despite our talk. To say I’m ready to blow a gasket would be an understatement. I grab my phone and send her a message.
* * *
Me: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
* * *
She replies straight away.
* * *
Avani: Gosh, hold your junk. I was just there yesterday. Desperate much?
* * *
I grind my jaw.
* * *
Me: You were here yesterday because you were working, like you are meant to be again today. Where are you?
* * *
Avani: You are so needy.
* * *
Me: And you are late. Again.
* * *
Avani: Late? I’m late? Gosh, when did I fuck someone to risk being late? Are you tracking my cycle, mister? You know bosses shouldn’t do that. I could call human resources and have you reported.
* * *
Me: Avani… get to fucking work.
* * *
She sends me a smiling emoji, and I want to kill her even more. Clenching my jaw, I wait at the front door. An hour later, she walks in with a Starbucks in hand with some pink shit in it and a smile on her face.
She always has that fucking smile. What is there to be so happy about?
Her feet halt when she sees me, then her eyes fall to the bag on the counter and they widen.
Her hand goes to her heart, and she gushes. “For me?”
Who the fuck else would want this ugly thing?
Except I don’t say that.
She steps over and pushes her pink drink into my chest, making me take it whether I want to or not as she opens the bag while I take a sniff of the drink. Smells fruity.
“This is my first Chanel bag. Now, you know I will treasure this,” she coos, pulling the box out.
“You better fucking treasure it by being on time from now on,” I grumble.
She beams as she opens the box carefully. She all but threw the paper bag to the side, but the box she is careful with.
“You can have a sip. It’s sweet, like me.” She motions to the drink in my hand, then her eyes find mine, and that’s when I notice how violet they are.
“You are anything but sweet. You’re nothing but trouble,” I tell her.
“With a capital T.” She smirks, then turns away from me. Removing the bag out of the box, she lifts it and slides the strap onto her shoulder. A squeal leaves her lips as she spins and faces me. “It suits me, doesn’t it?”