Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“I don’t count them anymore. Do you remember how many hunting jackets you sold last year?” he asks, as if those two were even remotely comparable. Maybe for someone like him—they are.
“So you find taking a life that easy? Did you grow up around violence?”
Saint shrugs, but I can see the sudden stiffness in his hands. He’s ready to take a hike from this conversation. “Everyone does what they have to. And as you can see, I’m still here. Haven’t been arrested once.”
I might be socially awkward, but I’m not blind to cues, so I turn his attention to something he might find more bearable. “And how long since that streak started?”
“Twelve years since my uncle died,” Saint tells me as we make our way to the entrance. As soon as we start walking, his hand is on my back.
He told me he’s thirty-two, which means he was basically on his own since he was my age. But he’s become a bit distant, and I don’t want to ask if he misses his uncle. I’m not great at small talk, so we’re left with uncomfortable silence as I wonder about his life.
He’s a killer for hire, moves around a lot, there’s that Marty guy he mentioned, but other than that, it’s hard to squeeze much out of him. And yet he claims he wants to get close to me.
“But now I have you,” he says and kisses my ear as the elevator opens on my floor.
I’m not sure how our relationship is meant to work out if he keeps withholding so much, but maybe it’s just the topic of his work that is so touchy. I can try a different angle to get more out of him.
“And do you always find boyfriends by moving in next to them?” I laugh a bit nervously when I think back to how fast I fell for him.
“Not really. You’re special like that,” Saint tells me with a charming smile and pulls me that bit closer. “You know who I am. That makes it so much easier.”
And the worst thing is, his words make butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I do feel special. “How so?” I can’t help myself, and when we stand in front of my door, I stroke his chest. He’s so firm, so handsome, and wants me. So why do I have to make it so complicated for myself?
‘Maybe because he’s a fucking killer for hire?’ my inner voice screams.
Saint’s mouth stretches in the handsomest grin in existence. If I didn’t know him, I’d want a poster of him naked above my bed, so I could shamelessly fantasize that I do.
I stiffen when he leans in to brush his lips against mine, worried a neighbor might spy on us through a peephole, but I can’t resist his touch. When his hand slides down my back and squeezes my ass, I raise to my toes as a wave of molten-hot pleasure flows through my body.
“You see the world for what it really is. You see that some people are rotten and need to be weeded out permanently.”
No one has ever appreciated that fucked up side of me. To be fair, I stopped sharing it since expressing my rage and despair made people uncomfortable. Not him. He’s more than happy to hear what I want to do to the bastards I have a grudge against.
I start opening the four locks, not yet sure how I will feel about letting him inside. “So it wasn’t my charming smile, electric personality, and long eyelashes?”
Saint chuckles, and I shiver when his hand slides into my back pocket, massaging my ass. At least now he’s standing behind me, and even if someone were to step into the corridor, they wouldn’t see what he’s doing.
“I barely saw your face when we first met, but the fire burning in every word of your letter made me itch for you even before I could see those pretty eyes,” he says and leans in, kissing both my eyelids in a gesture so tender I can barely breathe.
He will be the death of me. Literally. I might not survive this relationship.
All the locks are open, but I can’t make myself invite him yet, so I stall by wrapping my arms around his neck. When I kiss him, the world around us dissolves into a blur. His tongue is eager to reciprocate and he pushes me against the door, leaving me breathless. Saint’s smell, the aura of danger that surrounds him, the touch of his hands… Every bit of him is so intoxicating it’s hard to be rational and play mind games with him.
We’re still kissing as the door clicks behind me and opens. Maybe if I walk in with my eyes closed, it will be easier. I have spent a day in his murder cabin, after all, and got used to his presence pretty fast.