Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
“Our little operation’s grown, for sure,” he mutters.
“Hey,” Remy’s harsh voice interrupts, “if you’re done molesting my sister in front of everyone, do you think you could do your job?”
“Molest implies he’s bothering me,” I say, hugging Griff tighter. “Which he absolutely isn’t.”
“My girl has spoken.” Griff’s body shifts to the side, his arm sliding up around my shoulders.
I open my eyes and pull away to find them in a staring contest. Remy breaks their eyeball duel first. His gaze shifts from annoyance to concern as it lands on me.
“You all right?” Remy asks. “Being here, I mean. I know you don’t mind having this clown slobbering all over you.” He jerks his thumb in Griff’s direction.
Griff shakes with laughter.
“The only one clowning around here is you,” I snap back. “I’m fine.”
“Well, when he’s done marking you with his scent or whatever’s going on here”—Remy circles his hand in front of both our faces— “I want you to go watch the fights from Eraser’s table.”
“But how am I going to see anything?” I twist my body away from Griff and scan the room. The area around where Eraser had been standing earlier is so crowded, I can barely make out the top of his head. I can’t see Ella at all. “Are you sure the money table’s the safest place to be during the fight?”
“During it, yeah. At the end of the night, maybe not.” Remy scowls at Griff. I wish I’d been able to hear the discussion that went down when Griff told Remy I was coming here tonight. Remy seems off-balance and extra cranky.
“Jigsaw’s covering the table,” Griff says. “No one’s gonna fuck with that scary bastard.”
“Yeah, but he’s here to protect the money.” Remy flicks his gaze to me again. His expression suggests he’s close to ordering me to go home.
I stand straighter, jostling Griff’s protective arm from my shoulders. “I can handle myself.” I lift one knee, keeping my foot parallel to the floor. “Come closer so I can demonstrate my knee-to-groin move.”
“Aw, look at that. We got our own mini-Amanda Nunes wannabe.” Remy rubs his hand over my head and I bat it away.
“Hell yeah, she’s a champion in multiple divisions.” I raise my fists, tuck my elbows to my sides and throw a pretend jab.
“Put those away.” Remy slaps one of his hands over my fists and pushes them down. “I don’t need anyone thinking you’re looking for a match.”
Behind me, Griff wraps his arms around me again—the embrace closer to a straitjacket than a loving hug this time. I tip my head back and stare up at him. “Traitor.”
“He’s right.” Griff kisses my forehead.
“I’ll behave,” I promise, shooting a glare at Remy who just laughs. When Griff doesn’t release me, I try to wriggle free.
He leans down and brushes his lips against my ear. “I don’t want to let you go. I kind of like you this way.”
A blast of heat sears my skin. Why does the low, husky timbre of his voice have this effect on me? Sighing, I relax in his arms, wishing we were alone.
“For fuck’s sake,” Remy grumbles, stalking away.
I slide my head to the side, peering up at Griff. “Were you trying to piss him off?”
Griff slowly turns me in his arms, keeping us close. “No, but it is a bonus.” He lifts his gaze to somewhere behind me. “What I really want is for every other motherfucker in this building to know you’re with me. You’re my girl.”
That same melty, warm feeling slides over me. I loop my arms around his neck and lean up on my tiptoes. “Does it also mean your bunny fan club over there will stop eyeing you like you’re a stack of banana pancakes with caramel drizzle?”
His lips quirk up but his head tilts in confusion. “I’m more like a Belgian waffle, no?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. The only girl I want drooling over me is you.” He pats his stomach. “Although now I really want to stop for waffles somewhere. The thick, fluffy kind.” He holds his thumb and index finger an inch apart to demonstrate. “Not those sad little things you slide in the toaster.”
I shake with laughter and squeeze my eyes shut.
“That’s better.” He rests one finger under my chin, tilting my head, then slowly brushes his lips over mine. Blood thunders through my ears, drowning out the noise of the people shouting the names of who they think will win each fight.
He pulls away and I reach up to brush my thumb against the corner of his mouth. “You’re wearing some of my cherry gloss now.”
“Good.” His tongue slides over his lip. “Tastes like you.” He slides his arm around my shoulders. “Come on. Let me walk you over to E. Things are about to start.”
“Griff!” a high-pitched voice shouts, accompanied by a rapid clickety-clack over the concrete.