Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
"Quesadillas were the shit by the way," he said, pointing to the plate. "They were gone in all of two minutes. You kinda screwed yourself there too. Now the guys know you can cook, they are going to be puppy-dog eying you all the time to make them shit."
I felt myself smile a little at that. For reasons unknown to me, I liked Cash. I had a feeling that was everyone's knee-jerk reaction to him. It was hard to not like him. Everything about him seemed laid-back, easy, charming. He had none of the intensity or the dangerous vibe that his brother did.
"Well, that's one way to earn my keep," I said with a shrug. I didn't mind cooking. I actually liked it most of the time. I didn't do it much for myself because, well, cooking for one person was lame. But I always loved to pitch in on holidays or at dinner parties.
"Don't have to earn it, love. You're welcome here. Pretty sure Duke would chop off the balls of anyone who said otherwise." He paused at that. "I think Duke is in the basement. The stairs are off the hall if you're looking."
"Thanks," I said, moving away from him and back toward the hall.
Most basements were a bit creepy. The one at The Henchmen compound was no different. It was all bare cinderblock walls, cement floors, and bad lighting. The stairs were steep and narrow and I had my hands on both walls as I descended.
I squinted my eyes to adjust to the different lighting. There were a couple sets of washing machines on the right wall next to a huge security door that I figured protected some pretty important or expensive or illegal, or all three, things behind. To the far left was a chair with handcuffs that I chose to pretend I didn't see. And then right to the left of the steps were two sets of bunks. Not the nice, wooden types you'd see in children's bedrooms either. They were the sturdy metal varieties you'd see at an Army barracks.
Walking over, my feet cold from the cement floor, I saw him in the bottom bunk butted up against the wall. His back was propped up on the wall, asleep on his side.
People were supposed to look softer in sleep, men especially. But that wasn't true of Duke. He was still all rough and tough and manly... just with closed eyes. Somehow, I took comfort in that.
Before I realized what I was doing, I sat down at the edge of the mattress and looked down at him for a second. Then, as if it wasn't attached to me, I watched as my hand reached out to tuck his hair back.
And, just like the last time I touched him while he was asleep, his huge hand grabbed my wrist before his eyes even snapped open.
I hissed at the sting but didn't pull away as his eyes opened and took me in. The second he realized I wasn't a threat, his grip loosened, but he didn't let me go.
"You okay?" he asked, groggy.
"I was worried about you," I admitted.
"You were worried about me?" he asked, brows drawing together.
"You said you would come back to the room after your meeting. You never did. Cash told me he thought you were down here."
"You were worried about me," he repeated, sounding in awe of the very concept.
I guess that was a side-effect of being so strong; no one ever offered you a hand.
"You've had a rough couple of days," I said with a shrug. Sure, I had had one too, but it really didn't compare in the long run. I hadn't lost two close friends. I didn't have the weight of responsibility of finding the men who did that and dealing with them. And I wasn't strapped with some random, scared chick I had to take care of either.
He let out a sound that was like an almost silent chuckle, shaking his head. And then his hand tightened, pulling me down toward the bed. I didn't even pretend to resist. I got onto my side facing him, our bodies barely more than a breath apart on the tiny twin bed.
"You're quiet," he said, but I felt he meant it in general, not just in that moment.
"So are you," I said with a shrug. "The difference is, I think, that I am quiet because I don't have much to say. You're quiet because you have too much but you're afraid no one wants to hear it."
Something flashed across his eyes and, if I hadn't been watching so closely, I would have missed it. But it looked like vulnerability, like I was right.
"Sure you have things to say," he said to cover.
I smiled at that, rolling my eyes. "Says the outlaw biker guy to the painfully normal girl."