Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I have to face the fact that I will never perform professionally–my dream since I was eight years old. My mom pushed the business degree, saying when I recover, I’ll have the know-how to run my own dance company or studio, but I don’t even know if that will be possible.
Plus, I hate business classes. Truly hate them. I have zero interest in business management. But it probably doesn’t matter because at the rate I’m going this semester, I’ll fail out, anyway. Which would kill my mom.
I wonder what my dad would think. He said very little about the whole thing. Sometimes I speculate whether he’d back me up if I set against my mother. But they’ve always been such a unified front—it’s hard to say. And yeah, I’m a little old to let my parents run my life, but when they’re paying for everything, they sort of retain that right.
“Come on, Summer, we’re getting shots.” One of my new friends tugs me toward the bar.
I follow, taking my turn with one shot of tequila then another. It slides down my belly like fire and hits me fast, reminding me that I haven’t had much to eat today. The gaggle of business students head back to the dance floor, and I join them.
A good-looking guy sidles up, giving me an appreciative sweep of his eyes. He works his way into the circle my friends made, and they allow him. After a couple dances, he offers to buy me another drink.
I definitely don’t need one, but what the hell? He’s buying. I trail him to the bar and order a Cosmo. Only then do I get the creepo vibe.
Carlo
Sonny and Vince count the take for the night—twenty large. Not bad for a night’s work. I pay them both their shares and lay out stacks of bills for the soldiers who worked security.
My phone vibrates, and I tilt the screen to see who’s calling. Frowning, I swipe the screen. “Hey doll.” I purposely don’t call her by name, so the guys won’t pay attention. Why is Summer calling at one a.m.?
“Hey Carlo, I need a favor.” Her words sound slightly slurred.
Fear spikes in my chest. Cops showing up and Russians with happy trigger fingers never ruffle me, but thinking about Summer in danger turns me cold.
“Pay the guys out,” I say to Vince, pushing the piles of cash in his direction and standing up. To the phone, I say, “Anything, babe. Where are you?”
“I’m at a club. I–I don’t think I can drive, and this creepy guy is stalking me. I’m in the bathroom.”
I grab my jacket and slide it on. In a low voice, I say to Sonny, “I need you to get the feed from the front door over to Joey to ID the guy with Gio.”
“You bet, boss.”
“Which club?” I ask Summer, stepping out the door.
“Five-oh-four.”
“I’ll be right there. You just stay put, do you hear me?” I stride to my Mercedes SUV and get in, slamming the door.
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, do not leave the bathroom.” I jam the key in the ignition and start the car.
She lets out a drunken giggle. “Yes, sir.”
Gesù Cristo. If I weren’t so nerved up about her well-being, those two words would make me rock hard. Summer La Torre playing submissive to me. Is that why she called me? I shake my head to push away the thoughts crowding my brain.
“Summer, I’m going to hang up now. Do not come out of there until I call you back. When I do, I’ll be standing right outside the door, capisce?”
“Yep, got it.”
I end the call and screech through the streets to reach Summer, ready to kill the asshole who has her hiding in the bathroom.
An agonizing thirty minutes later, I arrive, hand my keys to the valet parking attendant and pay a ridiculous cover charge to get into a club that will be closing in thirty minutes.
I push my way toward the back, looking for the bathrooms, eyeing every male who comes between me and that door. No one appears to be loitering around.
Too impatient to call her, I tap on the door and push it open. My heart stops when I see Summer—my girl—sitting slumped against a wall, her head leaning back, her eyes closed.
“Hey,” a girl shrieks.
Summer’s eyes flutter open, and her face breaks into the delayed grin of inebriation.
“Get out of here,” the offended customer squeals. “I’m getting a bouncer.”
“Summer.” It comes out like an exhale. I take two steps into the room and hold out my hand to haul her to her feet. She’s wearing a body-hugging dress so short it barely covers her ass and shows every curve. She looks gorgeous, but I want to kill every man who saw her in it tonight. And she definitely isn’t wearing a bra or panties underneath. I scowl. “Let’s go.”