Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
I want a pound of flesh. I want a hundred pounds of flesh. Two hundred. Enough to wipe away any trace of the man. Enough to erase history. To make me forget. To make Jones forget.
A tear drops onto my palm and my head snaps up. I take a deep breath in, fix my features, harden my face. I get dressed and walk back into Kill’s office. Without hesitation, I pick up the glass of whiskey he left behind and swallow it, then pour myself another and do the same before pouring a third. I sit on the couch for a long time watching the images on the various screens but not seeing anything. I drink.
I have to force myself to stand. To walk to his desk, carrying both bottle and glass with me. I’m alone and I need to take advantage of that. I drink a little more. Refill my glass. I want to smash the bottle against the screens. I can’t stand it anymore, seeing myself, hearing myself. But instead, I switch that one off and sit in his chair, letting the big chair engulf me. It’s like it’s holding me, like I’m safe.
The container of lube sits open on the desk. I take it, close it, put it back in the desk drawer. I go through each of them in turn, methodically, nonchalantly. I’m not afraid, for some reason. Maybe it’s stupid. He just told me how he’d punish me the next time, but I’m not afraid.
Because Killian Black may be the answer to everything.
Because Killian Black can help me collect my pounds of flesh.
But I can’t tell him why. I can’t ever tell him what happened. We promised each other, Jones and I, that we would never tell.
Shame gurgles in my belly, threatening to paralyze me. I forego the empty tumbler and bring the bottle of whiskey to my mouth. The stuff burns, but it works faster than the wine. My head’s already fuzzy. I force another long swallow, then set it down. Close my eyes against the shame. Squeeze the heels of my hands into them.
When I open them again, I see how my mascara smears them black. I don’t care though. I open another drawer, the last one, and inside it, light catches the black metal of a pistol, making it shine bright. I look at it for a long minute. Reach down for it. Wrap my trembling hand over the butt of it.
The steel is cold to the touch. Solid in its weight. In its promise.
I set it on the desk and stare at it. Hate fills me, rage creeps along that hate. Years of it. Years of being powerless. I sit up straighter and a plan begins to take form in my head.
Killian Black is the answer.
There’s no such thing as coincidence. Everything happens for a reason. This is why I’m here.
I glance up at the monitors. The one set to the restaurant shows Kill sitting at a table with Hugo and a man I don’t recognize. The man is smaller than both of them. He has his head in his hands and is shaking it. Kill grips a handful of his hair and tugs it back. My curiosity grows and I watch, wishing I could hear but this camera doesn’t have a speaker. At least not one that I can find. The man nods something and Kill releases him. Hugo takes him by the scruff of his neck and stands him up. Kill gets up too, but then a woman stops him. She puts her hands on his shoulders and Kill smiles at her. It’s a smile I haven’t seen, there’s something almost tender about it.
I lean in to watch, looking closer, recognizing her as one of the strippers. Brandy, I think? She’s the wannabe lawyer. Lawyer my ass.
He gestures for her to sit. She does and so does he, motioning to the waitress to bring them a drink. They talk for a minute, then the waitress brings them their drinks. Champagne for her. A bottle of it. An expensive one. Whiskey for him. He’s still smiling while she talks. She’s very animated and I hate her and her pretty blonde hair and her perfect stripper’s body. And the more he laughs at what she’s saying, the more relaxed he appears, the more I hate her.
I lean back, still watching, eyes narrowed on her. I reach for the bottle of whiskey and take another swig. But when she leans in and takes one of his hands in both of hers, I’m done. I get up, pick up my purse. It’s ridiculous I brought one. It’s empty but for the tube of lipstick I was allowed. I don’t even have my wallet, my driver’s license. I have nothing. I am completely at his mercy. But if he thinks I’m going to sit here while he’s down in the club flirting with a stripper after fucking me, he’s got another thing coming.