Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“I realized it wasn’t going to work, and when I tried to put some distance between us…”
The air tenses around us, and she pulls her hand free from mine so she can wrap her arms around her waist.
“He became more and more controlling. Things got bad, and I left Houston to make a fresh start here.”
Things got bad.
Anger fills my chest, and my jaw clenches as the muscles in my body tighten.
So the fucker who hurt her is a neurosurgeon in Houston. I’m sure I can find the hospital’s name in Samantha’s file at work. She must’ve had a work reference from her previous place of employment.
Knowing I need to say something, I focus on keeping my tone gentle as I say, “I’m sorry that happened.”
She just shrugs and continues to stare at her lap.
Suddenly my phone starts vibrating in my pocket, and I pull the device out. Seeing Renzo’s name flashing on the screen, I say, “I have to take this call. Give me a moment.”
“Sure.”
Getting up, I walk to the door and step out of the room before answering, “What’s up?”
“There’s a problem. One of the trucks was ambushed.”
“Fuck,” I hiss. I quickly pull the door shut behind me so Samantha won’t hear me, then ask, “Which truck?”
“The one Steve was driving. Whoever stole my shipment sent us a message.”
“What kind of message?”
“They fucking nailed Steve to the side of the trailer.”
Christ.
“Tell me you’re not by the truck.”
“I’m not. I sent Carlo to take care of things.”
“Tell him to be careful.”
“Are you coming over so we can decide how to handle this?”
I glance at the shut door. “Yes. Just give me a few minutes to wrap things up at the club.”
Ending the call, I head back into the room.
Samantha gets up and walks to the bed, where she grabs her handbag. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m going to be dead at work tomorrow.”
I check the time on my phone and see it’s almost midnight. “I should’ve kept track of time. Sorry.”
She takes a step closer to me, and gives me a grateful smile. “Thank you for tonight.”
When she heads to the door, I ask, “How are you getting home?”
“The subway.”
I shake my head. “I’ll arrange for one of the women to take you home.” Before I can stop myself, I add, “Or I can take you. I’m also leaving, so it won’t be out of my way.”
She stares at me for a moment, then nods. “Okay. That would be great.”
“A woman or me?” I ask to make sure.
The corner of her mouth lifts. “You.”
There’s an intense sensation in my chest, and it feels like I beat one of her demons.
Shit, I’m pretty sure Samantha knows I drive a G-Wagon. I’ll have to take Brian’s car and tell Milo and Lorenzo to follow us at a safe distance.
“I’m just grabbing my car keys, then we can leave,” I say as we step out into the hallway.
“Should I wait here?” she asks.
“Yes. I won’t be long.”
Hurrying toward the security room, my thoughts are torn between Samantha and the ambush on one of my trucks.
When I’m out of earshot of Samantha, I quickly call Milo.
“Yes, boss?”
“I’m using Brian’s car to take Miss Blakely home. Follow behind us and make sure she doesn’t see you.”
“Got it.”
“Be careful, Milo. One of the trucks was ambushed tonight.”
“Fuck,” my guard mutters. “I’ll notify the rest of the men.”
“After dropping off Samantha, we’re heading to Renzo’s place,” I inform him before ending the call.
Chapter 13
Samantha
When I climb into the passenger seat of the BMW, I feel a little apprehensive.
I’m taking a huge risk by getting into a car with a man I barely know.
Barely…ha! I don’t even know his freaking name.
When my mystery man settles behind the steering wheel, I watch as he adjusts the seat.
My eyebrow pops up. “Isn’t this your car?”
“No, it’s a friend’s.”
He starts the engine, and realizing he’s going to drive through Manhattan with a balaklava on, I let out a snort. “You look like a bank robber. The cops are going to pull us over.”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” he mutters as he reverses the BMW out of the parking bay. “Where do you live?”
Knowing he can find my address on my membership form, I don’t bother lying and tell him where to go.
We drive in silence for a minute or so before my nerves get the better of me, and I blurt out, “This isn’t nerve-racking at all.”
Turning left at a set of traffic lights, he says, “It’s the same as being in a room with me. Try not to worry.”
“It’s not the same,” I argue. “There are no security cameras. Right now, it’s your word against mine.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs. “Besides, I enjoy your company and won’t do anything to jeopardize our time together.”