Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
“I should scream, shouldn’t I?”
“Only if you want me to hurt you.”
Fear races through me. “You’d hurt me?”
He smiles. “Probably not.”
“Probably?”
“I can’t say I never would. If you asked me to, I’d say yes.” He takes off my shoes, catching me off guard by how gentle his hands are as he rolls my ankle, trying to examine the damage. A rather shocking display for the guy who told a dude he was capable of murder not too long ago.
“You’re a little fucked up, huh?”
He glances at me, his eyes a deep blue ocean in the middle of a storm. “You don’t even know half of it.”
I shiver from both his stare and his touch.
“Looks like it’s just twisted. Just keep off of it. It’ll be fine in a few days.”
“Cool, I’ll just be on my way.” I move to get up, but he is lightning quick, pinning me down, both his arms caged around me.
“I’ll take you home.”
“No offense, big guy, but you just beat the shit out of a guy in front of me for no reason then manhandled my ass to get me into this cigar lounge of an office. I’m not really gonna tell ya where I live.”
“I don’t need you to tell me anything. I can find out whatever I want with one phone call.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Vance.”
“No, I mean, who are you? Like, what’s your deal? You seem to walk around the place like you own it.”
“I do own it.”
“No, not the club. Like…you appear as if you can buy and sell anyone or anything. Like real power.”
Vance shrugs; he lifts himself off the sofa, offering me his hand. “I promise I won’t hurt you. My word is my bond. I won’t break it.” When I don’t take his hand right away, he quickly adds, “I also don’t take no for an answer.”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me then said I can’t say no to you.”
“You can say no when it comes to sex, and I promise, no physical harm will come to you.”
His words aren’t really reassuring, but I believe him. Danger isn’t a new concept for me. I was born in it. I place my hand on his massive one, and he pulls me to him. He smells good, like hot chocolate and violence.
He opens a door in the back of his office, and we are outside beside a black town car with its own personal driver. Vance opens the door for me, gesturing for me to go inside. Even the vehicle is swanky. The thing has a mini-fridge, and it's roomy as hell, more like a mini limo of sorts. Vance follows me inside, closing the door behind him. “Tell the driver your address.”
When I’ve given the man the info, Vance frowns.“That’s not a good neighborhood,”
“It’s fine. I’m not dead yet.”
“That’s not a joking matter, Clarissa.”
Goosebumps appear on my flesh, hearing him say my name. I am not sure if it’s caused by fear or excitement.
“How’d you know my name?”
He smiles as he hands me my wallet.
“You stole my wallet?”
“Just in case you tried to tell me the wrong address.”
“You’re a bonafide stalker, you know that?”
Vance winks at me before his full lips form into a sinister smile. “Wasn’t before today.”
During the drive, Vance doesn’t say a word. He sits there watching me. I squeeze my thighs together, not sure what is happening to me. His stare isn’t a normal one. It’s almost orgasmic. If someone could make a girl come from a look, it is definitely this man. It's unnerving how the man stares at me like I'm a tiny morsel that he can’t wait to devour.
“You really don’t live in a pleasant neighborhood,” Vance says, his eyes now off me. He focuses on the run-down sidewalks surrounded by buildings with broken cement stairs and missing bricks in the walls.
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, but you don’t need to. Not anymore.”
His words catch me off guard. I don’t really understand what he is saying. When we get to my apartment, I am flooded with relief. The sooner I am out of the car, the quicker I can get some fresh air. Sitting in there with him feels like I am lulled, as if drugged by the intoxication by the near proximity to his presence. “Okay, well, this is me. Thanks for the ride.”
My hand is reaching for the door handle when he grabs my wrist, turning it in gently. “Wait.” He pulls out a cream-colored card with fine black cursive print from the inside of his jacket, placing it in my hand. “If you ever need anything, call that number. It goes directly to me.”
“Ummm, thanks,” I said, making the words sound more like a question than a statement.
“I mean it, Clarissa. Use it.”
The car door opens. The chauffeur offers his hand, but before I can take it, Vance’s voice booms with a menacing tone, “Don’t touch her.” To me he growls, “I will come help you out.”