Series: Chicago Sin Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Shutters close behind his eyes, and he turns back to his work. “Prison. Just out.”
A shiver runs through me. Prison. Josie and I didn’t think of that possibility.
“Was that your… first time since getting out?” It would explain why he was an animal when I kissed him.
At first, I think he’s not going to answer. He ignores me, dumping the contents of the dustpan into the garbage. Then he mutters, “Yeah.”
I’m simultaneously pleased and destroyed by that. I guess I wanted to believe he was just that attracted to me. I mean, he did remember my name.
I am such a fool.
Then I realize he’s watching me, and I try to school my face. Keep on a blank mask like he wears.
“You okay? I was… rough.”
Oh shit, I’m blushing. I sense the heat crawl up my neck and spread to my ears and cheeks.
He was rough. And it was hot. I never knew I’d like having my hair pulled or my butt slapped, but I did. I’m still needy for more like a glutton. Almost painfully needy.
“I’d buy you flowers, but I’m guessing that’s not your thing.” He gives me the barest hint of a smile, and stupid me, I reward him with one in return.
“Only if you get them here,” I say, which is dumb because I wouldn’t really want a guy to buy flowers from me to give to me. I only said it because I need the money so badly, I’d be offended if he shopped anywhere else.
And why in the hell am I even examining this line of thought? I’m being held captive in my own shop. By a murderer.
It’s not time for roses and romance.
So I poke. “What happened to the fiancée?”
He grimaces, his expression going harder. “Lotta questions, Flowers.”
I arrange the pieces of the puzzle in my mind. “She didn’t wait,” I answer for him.
He straightens the toppled table and rearranges the remaining plants on it.
“I’m sorry.” It slips out before I can bite back my offering of compassion.
He ignores my sympathy, walking past me to fill the mop bucket in my large utility sink. I smell the scent of bleach. Well, at least he cleans up his own mess. He could’ve ordered me to do it.
I twist my hands behind my back. “These hurt.”
“Stop moving.”
“Thanks. Great suggestion. I hadn’t thought of that.”
He cuts a look at me while he dumps a generous helping of bleach in with the water. “You’re tied up because you gave me trouble. Maybe rethink the attitude if you want me to let out the leash.”
“Leash?”
He wheels the mop bucket into the shop. There was a smattering of blood on the floor, but not much, thankfully. He swabs the entire floor.
“Why didn’t you use the gun? Too loud?”
He shakes his head. “Shut up, Flowers.”
“You didn’t want him dead.”
Armando makes a tsking sound as he mops the hall, then wheels past me and dumps the dirty water into the sink. “Keep out of this. You saw nothing. If anyone asks, there was a struggle, but we both left to finish things outside. You locked the place up and left early.”
My stool is a spinning one, and I use my feet to whirl around on it like a kid. “No offense, but that story would not hold up under questioning.”
Armando stalks over to me.
The part of me bold enough to talk back shrivels, especially when I remember this man is a brutal killer.
He stops when he reaches me, indecision flickering in his expression. Maybe he sees the fear on my face. He reaches for me, and I flinch. He slows his touch. Burrows his fingers through my hair at the side of my head then curls them up to tug it tight.
“Listen. Hannah. I’d rather not say the shit I’m supposed to say right now. Not to you.”
My stomach flip flops as I try to decode the meaning of his words. I keep getting caught on the not to you.
Like he does think I’m something special. But maybe, I’m looking too hard for meaning, so I won’t regret what I just let him do to me.
Like I want to believe that crazy rough sex meant something to him.
I know I still feel it all over. And if I stop looking for meaning or wondering if I just degraded myself, I might believe experiencing a man like Armando was worth it. I’m pretty sure he just ruined me for vanilla sex. Ruined me for kinder, gentler men. I should’ve known there was a reason those mafia assholes always appealed to me. I prefer an alpha male. I’m sure it’s a purely biological weakness many women share with me.
I try to swallow around the invisible band choking me.
“I won’t tell anyone what I saw,” I manage to say. My voice sounds strained.
“Good girl. Then we won’t have any problems.”