Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Her breath caught in her lungs. He was gorgeous. Tall without being giant. Muscular without being bulky. Tattooed without being overdone. Chocolatey brown eyes rolled around in their sockets at the nickname.
Frost—it was an odd name.
“Fuck off,” he said to the bartender, who burst out laughing.
“Sorry, man, it’s too good. Let me get those drinks.”
“Take care of the lady first.”
Rachel jumped. The lady? Did he mean her? She peeked at him again to find him staring down at her. He wasn’t smiling but didn’t seem annoyed either. More like he simply had a slightly grumpy resting face.
God, combine that almost scowl with his intoxicating eyes and that jet-black shaggy hair, and he could have walked straight out of her dreams. The ones where she wasn’t terrified of a man like him.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she faced the bar.
He grunted.
The man must be used to gorgeous women throwing themselves at him all the time. He probably wondered what the hell was wrong with her timid, mousy impression.
“One vodka seltzer for you, darlin’.” The bartender flashed her another charming grin as he placed the drink in front of her. “I’m here all night, whenever you want another. Or if you’d like to join me for the after party.” He winked.
“Oh, uh, thanks, but just the drink.”
You’re so lame.
The hottie next to her snickered.
Bartender-guy didn’t seem offended in the slightest. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
She had no idea how to respond, so she made a noise of confirmation and turned away with her drink. It might not have been the smartest idea because now she was once again facing the room full of rowdy partiers.
“Here are the beers, and here’s Curly’s scotch.”
Rachel’s spine tingled. Curly? Of course. The bartender was making a drink for Curly. The hottie had asked for one for the president. Her breathing sped. This was it. All she had to do was follow this Frost guy. He’d lead her straight to her brother.
Frost left the bar and walked into her field of vision. She took two steps after him and then froze.
She couldn’t move.
Couldn’t take another step as fear engulfed her.
She wasn’t ready.
Couldn’t do it.
What if Curly wanted nothing to do with her? What if he was an asshole. What if he didn’t believe they were related? What if he was the type of man who’d hurt—
“No,” she whispered as she shook her head. “Don’t go there.”
Someone bumped into her from the side. No apology, of course. The jolt knocked her out of her head. She might not be ready to waltz up to Curly, but she could at least observe him. She found Frost, who was walking toward a section of tables at the back of the room. Sure enough, a man with wavy salt and pepper hair sat at the table, chatting with another man and two women.
One of the women, a beautiful brunette, leaned into his side and laughed at something the blonde said.
Rachel’s heart, like the rest of the world, slowed to a dull thud. That man sitting there, running his fingers along his girlfriend’s back, was her brother.
Her blood.
Her family.
You can do this.
Her hands trembled, nearly spilling her drink as she took a step forward.
I can’t do this, she thought. Panic bubbled up, nearly bursting out her eyeballs in a torrent of frustrated and fearful tears. Rachel turned and booked it toward the door as fast as possible, weaving her way through the throng of dancers. She set her drink on the bar and pushed on before the bartender could notice. This time she was the one bumping and nudging people out of the way, leaving a trail of annoyed “Heys!” in her path.
The exit loomed ahead, a beacon in the tumultuous waters. Just as she reached it, the door swung open, and a huge man with a bald head, a bullseye tattooed on his scalp, and a chipped front tooth barged in.
“Damn,” he said, looking her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. “You’re a pretty one.”
Her chest tightened, and her legs turned to jelly. “E-excuse m-me,” she managed to mumble as she tried to slip around him.
“Now, hold on a minute, missy.” He used a meaty paw to hold the door closed. “What’s the rush?”
“I, uh… I just, I…” Panting, she pulled the door handle. Of course, it didn’t budge. The man was three times her size.
He laughed as her efforts to leave grew more frantic.
She pulled so hard that her hand ached.
“L-let me o-out.”
“Aww, don’t be like that.” He pressed against her from behind.
After what happened to her as a teenager, she’d gone to a woman’s self-defense class. She’d learned how to protect herself, and she carried Mace. Always. She had a little weapon on her keychain she could use to cause him pain.