Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Which means if I want to catch him, I’d better stick close to pretty little Ren.
Hell, maybe she’s right about me, but that doesn’t change anything.
Chapter 5
Renata
I can’t sleep.
I’m exhausted, my body feels like it wants to straight up shut down, but I can’t stop my brain from screaming at me. I’m too wired from the night and way too aware of Lanzo in the other room, and I’m pretty sure he could kick the door down if he wanted to. Just a little extra realization that keeps plaguing my stupid head. I keep thinking about the way he looks at me, half with hunger, half with frustration, like I’m annoying the hell out of him but he also kind of likes it. Which is horrible, because I really like that look.
It’s driving me crazy, lying here in this comfortable hotel bed, unable to get that handsome psycho out of my gibbering skull mush. He’s both my type, and not at all my type—handsome, yes, but I also can’t stand his arrogant smirk, like he knows something I don’t.
Which is true in this case.
I’m also pretty sure he’s some kind of murderer. Maybe a good-guy murderer, if that’s a thing.
Thoughts, worries, fears, and questions, a million more questions, all swirl through my brain until I can’t take it anymore.
I know I should close my eyes, count sheep, or maybe count corpse burritos, until I slip into blissful dreaming.
This is the time of night—or early morning, based on the clock—when bad decisions happen.
Honestly, I feel a very bad decision bubbling up in my guts. A stupid decision, a self-destructive decision, but still something I want.
Like I can’t help myself.
“Don’t do this to yourself,” I say, kicking the sheets off. “Ren, you’re smarter than this. Okay, you’re not, but at least you’re self-aware enough.”
I climb out of bed, use the bathroom, then creep to the bedroom door determined to find out who this Lanzo guy is exactly.
He’s super shady, I can say that for sure. Assuming what he told me so far is all true, he’s got to be some kind of mercenary, or maybe he works for some deep black ops force or something like that. Definitely there’s some spy shit going on here.
And I don’t like it. Or I do a little bit. I don’t know, I’m still figuring myself out, and I’m sleep-deprived, stressed to the max, and basically tumbling headlong into that bad decision hole I’ve dug for myself.
I’m a nobody-nothing girl from a poor family with no college education. I’ve been working a string of crappy jobs, from waitressing at dirty truck stop diners to mucking out stalls on a horse farm. If it can be done, I’ve done it, all because Grandpop needs a check, and he can’t work anymore.
Lanzo was right about me. He thinks I would’ve done anything for that hundred grand, and yep, there are very few lines I won’t cross for that kind of cash. But he’s wrong about my motives. I’m not doing it for myself. If it were up to me, I would’ve never gotten involved with this Burian guy from the beginning. I’d be off somewhere working a normal job, maybe in an office, something safe and boring where I could shoot the breeze with coworkers over coffee about weekend plans or whatever inane stuff normal people talk about.
Instead, I’m here because I love Grandpop more than anything in the world.
But that love doesn’t stop me from doing dumb stuff.
I open the bedroom door, peering out. It’s dark in the sitting area. A TV’s on, flashing light across the carpet. Lanzo’s on the couch with a laptop open on his chest, his face glowing white from whatever’s on the screen, his eyes staring and alert.
And he’s not wearing a shirt.
I gawk at his arms, at the muscles, and at the black tattoos swirling and writhing along his skin. I lick my lips, unable to help myself, as my jaw drops open.
He’s gorgeous. A freaking specimen.
The sort of man that shouldn’t exist anywhere but on Instagram or in movies.
Except he’s right there, lying on the couch.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
I flinch, nearly slamming my fingers in the door. Lanzo glances over at me, not smiling. Only looking, curious.
I open the door slightly. I’m in my t-shirt and jeans, my zip-up hoodie tossed on the floor next to the bed. I don’t say anything as I step into the room, staring at him, my head working through all the answers I’ve been dreaming up since all this started.
But the moment he sits up, putting the laptop aside to reveal his muscular chest, all the questions slip from my mind.
“It’s hard to calm down with you out here,” I say like I’m drifting above my own body, a million miles into the sky.
Was that a lame pickup line?