Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21273 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 106(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
“Ho-lee shit,” Roger whispers. “You tamed the beast, sis.”
“Now would be a good time to shut up, Roger,” Delilah says, a catch in her voice. Her fingertips reach the bare skin of my neck, curling into the collar. My dick jerks against the fly of my jeans, blood rushing south fast enough to make me dizzy. I groan. My pulse pounds, my mouth going dry.
I lift my head, but my neck barely works. This isn’t good. I’m in enemy territory and someone could come up behind me right now, hit me over the head with a heavy enough object and I’d be defenseless, as long as Delilah’s hands are on me. No one has ever touched me without payment first. Or some kind of leverage in place. No one but this tiny doll who’s watching me curiously from beneath curly black eyelashes. “Please don’t hurt my brother,” she says for my ears alone, dampness shining in her eyes. “He’s harmless.”
The presence of those tears makes me hunger to sacrifice myself at her feet. Maybe she doesn’t think I’m a freak. “No.” The word rumbles free. “Won’t hurt him.”
“Just take me with you.” I hear her swallow, see the nerves return to her expression. Have they been there all along? “You’re going to hurt me instead, remember?”
My raging lust is cut with bitterness and disappointment. A wounded sound tries to escape from my mouth, but I clamp my teeth down around it until my gums ache. “You think I could forget our date?” I laugh, ignoring how unnatural it sounds. Ignoring the new speculation in Roger’s eyes. There’s even some relief there, as if I’ve shown my true colors and revealed Delilah as my weakness. That won’t work. Not at all. If I don’t have fear on my side, men take advantage too easily. I wasn’t always this big. I know too well how others can prey on a man when they don’t have a healthy enough fear. That lesson was only strengthened itself in prison.
I won’t be taken advantage of with the doll in my possession. If they see me as weak, they might try to steal her back from me. No. No, I won’t allow that.
Retrieving Delilah’s backpack, I steer her toward the door, pausing to speak in her brother’s ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” With a low laugh, I slide my fingers into the soft strands of Delilah’s hair and rub them on my stomach. “Well. My version of gentle, anyway.”
“Fuck you, Raider.”
I hear the words, but I’m too distracted by Delilah’s shoulders stiffening. Too distracted by my self-disgust. This is how I repay her for being brave enough to touch me? For being loyal toward her family?
Resolve stiffens my back, and I march her out the door. There’s no help for how I am, how I look. How she sees me. The sooner she gets accustomed to an ugly bastard between her sweet virgin thighs, the better.
CHAPTER THREE
Delilah
I have now voluntarily climbed into a shitty white van with blacked-out windows, in case you’re wondering how my night is going. Before we left the house, I could have sworn Raider showed a softer side, but I must have gotten a contact high from whatever my brother has been smoking, because he’s back to resembling a deranged psycho killer, driving the chugging van like a bat out of hell.
Or a bat into hell, as the case may be.
After strapping me into the passenger seat with all the ceremony of tossing away an apple core—and a series of grunts—we’re now hurtling down the avenue leading out of town. I have no idea where we’re going, but common sense tells me it’s not the Ritz-Carlton. Or maybe it’s the mattress in the back that tipped me off.
Yeah, on second thought, it was probably the mattress.
“So.” Noticing my fingers are a bloodless white from gripping the seatbelt so tightly, I force myself to let go. “Nice ride.”
A grating grumble. “Borrowed the van temporarily. We’re picking up my 69 Pontiac GTO tomorrow. She’s been parked at a garage up north.”
I lift an eyebrow at him referring to his Pontiac as a female, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Did you make any friends in prison?”
He shoots me a dark look. “You some kind of a comedian?”
“No, I was being serious.” Sort of. “I watch Lockup. You have to affiliate yourself with a group for protection, right?”
His snort is like a bomb detonating. “Do I look like I need protection, doll?”
“Do you answer every question with a question?”
Frustration lines his damaged face, seeming to deepen his scars as he cuts me another side glance. “Listen, are you scared of me or not?”
“There you go again.”
He’s not amused. Well, fine. Neither am I. I’m sure he walked into my house, took one look around at all the swank equipment and decided I was a spoiled princess. I’m not. My brother has a good heart, but he’s a world-class jackass when he sets his mind to it. It doesn’t help that he courts women and friends who like shiny things. When our mother died—Dad hadn’t been in the picture for years—Roger turned to crime, like a lot of young men in our part of town. Money was good in the beginning, but his spending habits, not to mention him being on law enforcement’s radar, meant the cash dwindled fast.