Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
"What's her name, Logan?" Charles calls after us.
"Not your fucking business!" Logan yells back at him.
"You know I'm going to find out anyway."
"Yeah? How about I spell it for you, then? F-U-C-K O-F-F." Logan glances back at the reporter, lifting his middle finger in the air with an arrogant smirk. "Was that clear enough or should I spell it again, you dick?"
I whimper quietly.
Logan pops the locks on the truck, quickly ushering me inside.
"I'm going to kill you," I hiss. "Literal murder, Logan."
"We'll talk in a minute, angel."
"There will be blood. And pain. And death."
He buckles me in, leaning forward to brush his lips across my forehead. "Sounds kinky. I like it."
"I hate you. I hate you so much."
"No, you don't." He slams my door.
I slump in the seat, whimpering like one of those baby dolls that's running out of batteries. They're supposed to talk or sing, but instead, they just make that god-awful shrill sound that haunts your nightmares. Yeah, that sound actually leaves my lips. It isn't pretty.
Logan climbs in beside me, slamming his door. "Are you okay?"
"I'm not alive right now. Please check back later."
He has the audacity to laugh. Mighty bold for a man on death's door.
I turn to glower at him. "You told him that we're dating," I growl. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"
"I know exactly what I did, angel."
I close my eyes, practicing deep breathing. It doesn't help. He may think he knows, but he really doesn't. He doesn't have a freaking clue what he just did. As soon as Montaque finds out my name…
"Have you completely lost it?" I cry, whipping my head around to glare at him. "We are not dating. Never, ever!"
"I can explain."
"Is he still out there?"
He glances in the rearview mirror and then nods. "Yes."
"Then you should drive."
"Why?"
"Because I'm pretty sure my head exploding all over your truck is just as newsworthy as you telling a reporter that I ride your dick."
"So…you're big mad, huh?" he asks, grinning at me like he's pleased with himself. And I have never wanted to kiss someone and kill them at the same time before. Being this infuriating has to be a kink with him, right? It's the only explanation.
"Why did you tell him that I'm your girlfriend?"
"Two reasons," he says, starting the truck. "You didn't want the whole world to think you were fucking your boss. Now, they won't. They'll think you're fucking your boyfriend. They never have to know you work for me unless you want them to know."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"I actually do. Second reason?"
"Give me a second to get out on the road," he mutters. "You're less likely to kill me if I'm driving."
"So you think."
He glowers over at me, all hot and bossy. "You aren't allowed to endanger yourself, Peyton."
"The only danger to me in this vehicle is you, Logan. You are a hazard to my health." I lay my head back against the seatbelt. "You're giving me high blood pressure. I probably have angina now."
His laughter rumbles across the truck. "You do not have angina."
"Says you," I mutter. "If I spend much more time around you, I'll be gray and have wrinkles before I'm twenty-five."
"You'll still be stunning."
I crack an eye open to glare at him. "Start talking, Moreno."
"Ouch. You're using my last name now? I'm in serious trouble."
I reach for the latch on my seatbelt, ready to crawl over the console to kill him. Who cares if he's driving? Watching him struggle and panic will be worth the risk to my health and safety.
"I'm kidding!" he says through laughter, flipping on the blinker to get into the turning lane. "I'm just kidding, angel. Jesus. Settle down."
"Start talking," I growl. "Now."
"My sister, Lauren, has schizophrenia," he says, sobering instantly. "She's struggled with her mental health her entire life, and people have always treated her like shit because of it. Like it's her fault she was born the way she was. They compare her to me and treat her like a fucking failure. It's been that way since we were kids."
"That's awful," I whisper, my heart aching for her.
"Yeah, it is." His hands clench around the steering wheel. "Life is hard enough for her without constantly feeling like she doesn't measure up because of me. So when I was drafted, she begged me to keep her name out of the press. It's the only thing she's ever asked of me. She doesn't want to spend the rest of her life being Logan Moreno's poor little schizophrenic sister. And she doesn't want me to be poor little Logan Moreno, the motherfucker who accomplished so much despite having a sister like her. That's what they always fucking turn us into."
My heart clenches at the pain in his voice. At the guilt. He hates that she's treated that way. It's written all over his face. "You're trying to protect her," I say quietly.