Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105615 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Which he was. This man breathed danger. His very gaze was a threat. It definitely should’ve been criminal to have this kind of reaction to a man I barely knew.
The reason I didn’t want to tell him was based largely on principal. I didn’t want to tell him anything because I shouldn’t have to. I should be able to go to a club, dressed however I wanted, dance for as long as I wanted and leave without being pulled off the dance floor and dragged up here, in front of a man used to getting what he wants.
But that was the way the world worked As much as I really wanted to change it, I also understood this moment was not the time for me to start making those kinds of changes.
I just needed to get the fuck out of here.
“I like to dance,” I said finally. “Sure, I could do it in my living room. But I like the bodies. The energy. The smells. I like getting dressed up and getting out of my apartment. I like when the music is so loud I can’t think. It’s a weird form of meditation.” I narrowed me eyes. “I don’t dress to attract attention. Don’t dress for anyone but myself. But, of course, a man sees a woman who’s taken care of her appearance and he thinks it’s all for him because that’s the way men think.”
I said all of the words sharply, with as much inflection as possible to communicate how pissed off I was that I even had to explain myself. I tried not to show even the smallest bit of shame that I was explaining something that nobody closes to me understood to a stranger. A very attractive, possible criminal stranger. But that was neither here nor there.
His trenchant eyes assessed me for a few long beats after I’d finished speaking. Nothing moved on his face. I couldn’t get a read on him. Something I used to think I was good at doing. Reading people. I worked with a lot of them. But then again, a lot of people I worked with were simple and weren’t exactly focused on creating any kind of mystery.
This man was anything but simple. That I could deduce.
“Makes sense,” he replied finally. There was no edge to his voice, nothing to communicate that he thought I was weird or crazy. He just accepted what I said. It would’ve been an attractive quality on an immensely attractive man had the situation been different. But the situation was not different.
“Now that I’ve explained myself when I shouldn’t have to, are you going to tell me why I’m here? Or better yet, let me leave?” I wrung my hands together. Leaving was the goal, wasn’t it? Yes. I very badly wanted to leave, to get back to the safety of my apartment and forget this ever happened.
But another part of me wanted to stay. Soak up the presence of this man.
He continued to stare at me, taking a sip of his drink before setting the tumbler down. “You’ll be free to leave in a moment, Stella.”
“How do you know my name?” I demanded, blood chilling with the knowledge that murder might still be on the table. Or something else. Something darker and just as terrifying as murder.
Rape.
A whisper that resounded through my skull. The word every woman thought of many times in their lives because there was such a high possibility of it happening. I’d read somewhere that one in five women reported rape or attempted rape in their lifetime. And due to the fact that a huge majority of sexual assaults are not reported that number was likely much, much higher. That meant that it was likely that out of me and my three best friends—women I adored—one of us was going to experience at least one sexual assault in our lifetime. We had to think of the word daily, yet men only had to think about it if they were the ones doing it, investigating it, or experiencing it secondhand.
“You show your ID at the door,” he explained evenly as I envisioned him moving across the room and forcing himself on me. He didn’t make to move, just sat there staring. “As I said, you made an impression, so I told my men at the door to relay your information.”
That did not help quell a single fear. In fact, it only intensified them tenfold. My driver’s license had my address on it. To my apartment where I lived alone.
Seventy percent of the Criminal Minds episodes were about women who lived alone. Which is why I’d banned myself from watching that show. My imagination was already vivid enough, and I was a light sleeper, jerking awake at every noise, hand on the pepper spray I kept by my bed, as if it would make a difference.