Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“I am.” Her arse bumps into me.
“Breathe.” My hand fortifies her lower abdomen. “Breathe for me, Lux.”
“Damn, how serious can I take this?” Her seductive tone stirs my fucking cock.
Down boy.
“Vic, all I want to do is—”
“Pick up the gun.”
“Well, at least you’re not being stoic.” She snorts, following through with the order.
I offer simple directives. Once she appears ready, we place our headgear on.
Moments later, Luxury’s wrists kick. The first shot lands in the outlier area, a centimeter away from the figure's shoulder.
With a curled upper lip, Luxury glances back.
“Perfect,” I mouth.
Her brow tips slowly.
“Yes. Our perception of perfection will shift as we continue.” To mold you. “Try again, Little One.”
28
Luxury
Two weeks into our target-practice sessions, my body has acclimated to waking early in the morning. The sun has yet to rise as I lace up my shoes. Today, I’m not in the mood to workout. I feel like Victor’s emotions are off, a robot giving directions. I recall his suggestions for stance. Proper gun handling. My every endeavor is to seek approval from the unyielding, savage rock holding me down from behind.
I’m distracted as I walk, thinking about what I’d be doing if I were home. I’d be designing the storefront for Valentine’s.
No.
I’d be seated in a business class, mastering savvy ways to keep my and Momma’s dream alive.
When I come to, I glance around an unfamiliar hallway. Victor gave me a tour of the home when I arrived. He showed me the farmhouse and even the miles and miles of surrounding land, but there is one wing he has brushed off, saying it’s more guest rooms, which is where I find myself now.
Victor built this manor over ten years ago, which seems more like a home than the perfectly preserved time capsule Somerhaven was. He had said that nothing down this wing was complete, so dumb as I am, I just nodded in agreement before his lips collided with mine. Now, I grab the knob and—
“Miss Luxury, is there anything you need?”
I almost jump out of my bones at Burt’s familiar voice. My hand drops from the doorknob as if I’d brushed volcanic lava.
On the balls of my feet, I turn around. “Good—”
“My apologies for surprising you.”
“No worries, Burt.” I toss a thumb over my shoulder. “I was just . . .”
“Victor is waiting for you.”
“Okay,” I begin. Burt has never been so emotionless to me. This all has the makings of Victor.
“I was just going to chat with the maid for a second.” I point to the room. “I thought she—”
“I believe I saw her heading toward the horse stalls. The maid has been attending to one of the foals all night. We had a new addition to the family.” He smiles.
“But I thought I heard someone step into the room.” It’s a lie. A horrible friggen lie that slipped past my lips as soon as thought.
“Perhaps it was a gust of wind.” He passes me to close one of the large windows in the hallway.
“So . . . what's in that room?”
“A guest room. Do you need more space for your things? Would you like to venture about town and choose furnishings for another room?”
“Furnishings for another . . . room? What about this room?”
“I’m afraid only Victor has the answer to your question.”
“Burt?” I stop, thinking of a different tack. He said furnishings. “So, Burt, if it's a guest room, why not let me decorate it?” I don’t want to decorate a room, but it’s all I’ve got. I keep on. “Wouldn't that be easier than having me redo one of the other rooms?”
“Miss Luxury, I implore you to inquire with Victor.”
“Is there something I should know? Is it a torture chamber or . . .” My mind grasps at any gruesome notion.
“No. A torture chamber would be more fitting for the attic.” He winks. Although the comedic relief falls short of our usual banter, half a smile corks my mouth. These are Victor’s schemes.
On my way downstairs, I consider calling Aliyah. I’ve needed a friendly chat. But I can’t stop the depressing thought that maybe I shouldn’t have closed Urban Gardens and calling Aliyah would be a reminder of that.
Does my decision to “start over the right way” seem like another coping mechanism?
“Damn,” I murmur. “I haven’t started anything. I’ve been here. In Victor’s world.”
* * *
A little while later, I arrive at the gun range. Victor’s staring through the scope of a sniper rifle. I didn’t even notice before that the wall retracts. The shooting range expands from indoor to outdoor, and the target is at least a few miles away.
“Good morning.” I wave a hand after he empties the clip.
He removes the earphones. His face is all glorious emotionless angles. “Are you ready?”
“I guess.” I stand there astonished. While in this room, I’m in the company of a stranger.