Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 80249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
He doesn’t make me feel like Devil does…
That forbidden thought springs up, even though it shouldn’t. I do my best to squash it down. I can’t think about Devil. The temptation to go to him this morning was so strong. There’s no point though. Devil’s life is on the other side of the state and it doesn’t include me.
“What if it doesn’t, Wolf? That’s not fair to either one of us.”
“I’m willing to take my chances,” he responds.
“I—”
“Change of plans,” he says and I frown.
“What does that mean?”
“If I win, you give me two weeks where you seriously think of me as your man, and let me prove to you that we can work. Oh… and we eat at La Pena’s.”
“But—”
“And as an added bonus you can move back into your dad’s house.”
“There’s no catch?”
“I’m going to have security beefed up and men outside, but no… no other conditions.”
“And if I win?”
“Then, you move back into your dad’s house, but you have to give me one week where you let me prove we could work as a couple and we eat at La Pena’s.”
“So either way, you get what you want?” I grumble.
“Either way we both get what we want,” he corrects. I study him, still not sure if I’m doing the right thing. But, in a way I want him to prove things to me too. What if he’s right and we could be good together? It’s what my father wanted and I got him killed. It’s one of the last things he ever told me. I need to try. I owe him that.
My hand moves down and I hit start on the machine. The little moles pop out, one on my side and one on Wolf’s. He wasn’t ready, but I was and I whack mine hard with the sponge hammer and I’m hitting the second before Wolf even realizes what’s going on.
“Motherfucker, Torrent, you don’t fight fair,” he growls, slamming his hammer down so hard the material bends back as it strikes the poor plastic mole a little too hard.
I giggle despite myself.
“Man up or shut up,” I laugh.
We spend the next five minutes hitting the poor defenseless moles that pop up. All around us are kids and their parents with tortured looks on their faces and it might be one of the best days I’ve had.
When it’s all finished, I am forced to look up into Wolf’s smiling face.
“I win,” he says twirling the cord to the hammer on his finger.
“Crap.”
“Shall I take my woman to La Pena’s for dinner now, or do you want me to show you how good I am at Skeeball?”
“I hate La Pena’s. What does that even mean, anyway?”
“It’s penalties or sorrow or something. I don’t know. I never worried about English much, let alone Spanish.”
“Well, it sounds like Little Penis—just so you know. And since when did you get so good at all these games? I distinctly remember I used to spank your ass at Whack-A-Mole!”
“You were a little girl and I let you win. These days you’re very much a grown girl and when I think of spanking your ass—as you put it—it’s in a much different context.”
My gaze shoots up to his heated one and I feel butterflies in my stomach that are not all that unpleasant. Nervousness flutters through me too.
“Wow…”
“Ready, sweetheart?” he asks, and right now he looks every inch a wolf…
And I’m pretty sure I’m his prey.
“Ready,” I squeak—not sure if I am at all.
Devil
“Why are we here again?” I ask Diesel as we park up in the lot of a Mexican restaurant.
“You’re having food with me before I head out.”
“Diesel—”
“Wherein, I’m going to enjoy my fajitas and beer while you promise me not to do anything stupid until Fury gets out here to watch your back.”
“What the hell does La Pena’s mean anyways?”
“Hell if I know, but apparently it’s the only Mexican place around.”
“Couldn’t we go for pizza? Or fuck, what about a good old steak?” I grumble.
“You always want pizza. What is your hate against Mexican food, Ese? It’s good shit.”
“It tastes like shit, I’ll give you that,” I say with a sigh as we walk inside and I take off my shades, tucking them into the pocket of my vest. Diesel does the same with his as we wait to be seated. They take us back to a table, but both of us shake our heads no.
“We’ll take that booth over there,” Diesel says, finding one against the wall. The waiter looks at him strange but takes us over there with a shrug. Years of our lifestyle and being nomads until we found our own spot in this life has taught us both to keep our backs to the wall and our eyes on the crowd and the doors. “Two drafts,” Diesel orders as the waiter puts down salsa and fresh baked tortilla chips.