Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Yes, I know what Darius Anderson looks like without a shirt on, and the image will always be burned into my brain. He was so intensely muscled that I thought I would black out all over again. I know the spots where the metal of the car cut into him, and then, later, where the doctors and surgeons did—so many scars. The pain must have been nearly unbearable. How can it not hurt now? Is he lying about that?
He looks nothing like his freaking twin brother, and for that, I’m truly thankful. If I ever see Bradford again, I’m going to kick him in the junk. I really should have done that in the church and ran.
Darius is concentrating. His jaw is locked, and his eyes are down. He doesn’t look amused. I follow the trajectory of his gaze and realize his clenched teeth aren’t because I’m a brat for asking for that kind of money and threatening him but because he seems to be having a hard time with his knife. His fingers are clenched around the handle, but it’s like his hand has no power in it. He’s working it over his steak, but not much of anything is happening.
I can literally feel the goon tensing over Darius’ shoulder. Like he wants to step in and do it, but he would never shame his boss that way. I can feel the frustration radiating from Darius like a roaring bonfire throwing heat. His body tenses, and I expect him to explode and fling the knife across the room, but he just sets it down to the right of his plate, stabs a potato with his fork, and looks up at me.
He stills, and I remember thinking that his brother reminded me of something predatory in the church. Darius doesn’t have the same vibe about him. How I could have ever trusted Bradford is beyond me. Darius might be darker and have that clichéd black-as-night aura going on overall, but his eyes lack the same light that I once took for kindness in his brother’s. It wasn’t. It was calculation. Beneath that black sheep exterior, I bet Darius actually has a good sense of humor.
I bet he’s actually alright.
He realizes I’m watching him, and his lips thin out. His arm isn’t exactly a secret, so I take a chance because I’m too caring. It comes from years of having to survive, to be a mom to my sister because our mom was out working, and then later, constantly worrying about them both. I notice the smallest details because it’s practically ingrained in me. “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?”
With his good hand, he nods and rubs at his jaw, which is clean-shaven. “I’m sure. It just gets stiff, and it locks up sometimes. My fingers are useless as fuck tonight.” He meets my gaze, and I squirm under the intensity of it. It’s intense but not unkind. “I can grasp anything, but it’s like there’s no power in it. It’s incredibly frustrating.” That admission costs him, too.
I drop my voice to a whisper as the goon behind the chair shuffles his feet. What was his name again? Hans? Was that it? It should be Scary Dude or Mr. Tattoo Bald Head. Or Badass Mess You Up. “You could ask the kitchen to cut it up for you.”
He shakes his head, and his darker skin tone can’t hide the color that rises in his cheeks. “No, it’s fine.”
“Ask him to do it.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not hungry anyway, and it’s the middle of the night. No one eats like this in the middle of the night.”
Aha, so I was right about that.
“That’s too bad.” I study my plate and the steak I’ve already cut up. “This one is kind of underdone for my taste. Yours looks a little tougher. Want to switch?”
His expression says an eleventh toe just sprouted from my forehead. A hairy toe. Shudder. I dart my hand up to feel the spot where his gaze is burning a hole through. Nope, no toes, no hair. Nothing.
“Because I’m starving,” I go on. “But this is just…a little bloody. Too raw. It really looks quite awful. You’d be doing me a real favor if you gave me yours.”
I’m being suspicious. I shouldn’t be nice to someone who just bait-and-switched me, although it looks like he got the short end of the deal with his brother, too. It looked like he was eating glass when he confessed to me. And it looked like he was eating glass times ten when he took his shirt off and showed me his ruined arm like a truce so I would trust and believe him. It was like baring his soul, way too intimate. His arm might not hurt anymore, but his pride took a huge blow.