Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
I come to a stop at a set of lights and take the opportunity to be courteous and text Allison to let her know I’m ten minutes away. As I slip my phone back into my inside pocket and look up at the lights, something over the road catches my attention.
Red.
My heart begins to beat dangerously fast as I watch Pearl move in on an ATM, a can of soda in her hand. The shape of her body in that black dress. Her ass.
Fuck.
No.
I curse that curvy ass off to hell and back for being so fucking reckless. Alone. This time of night. Using a fucking ATM. And I thought she was ill. If she’s sick, she should be at home in bed.
A horn sounds, surprising me, and I look up to see the lights have turned green. “Fuck it,” I hiss, pulling away, staying in my lane, rather than indicating and moving across toward the sidewalk to stop. She’s not my concern. Danny and James can deal with this.
I cruise past the ATM, eyes forward, hands holding the steering wheel tightly, thinking of the pussy waiting for me. The distraction. No complications. No pissed off Rose and Beau. No conscience. Because all I can offer is an emotionless fuck.
I can’t rescue her from the clutches of traffickers and then violate her.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Shit.” I release one hand from the wheel and hit the screen on my dash, pulling up my recent calls. I dial Len.
“Brad,” he says.
“Were you asked to pick Pearl up after her shift tonight?”
“Yeah, she called and said she didn’t feel well and was getting a cab home. Didn’t want to wait for me to come from the boatyard.”
“Right.”
“Everything all right?”
“Fine.”
“Am I getting Anya at the normal time?”
“Please.” I hang up and notice the flash of red getting smaller in the rearview mirror. Keep driving, keep driving. My knuckles begin to turn white on the wheel. My shirt starts to stick to my back. “Jesus Christ, Brad,” I mutter, indicating and cutting across the traffic to the side of the road, earning myself a collection of angry horns. I get out and stride up the sidewalk toward the ATM, looking at the endless potential threats to a young woman in central Miami at this time of night. I’m fucking livid.
With her.
With me.
I see Pearl pull some bills from the machine and slip them into her purse as she backs away from the ATM, and then she lights up—I fucking hate that she smokes—and when she looks up and sees me stalking toward her, she stops dead in her tracks, her lips—those fucking lips—parting, her chest rising.
An inhale.
My vision fogs for a moment, a red haze blinding me. I’m putting it down to anger. I should be fucking my way to a clear conscience. Instead, I’m chasing stupid little girls around town. “What the fuck are you doing?” I yell as I approach, my skin burning.
Anger.
Pearl backs up, wary, the can of soda she’s holding pulled closer into her chest, the cigarette limp between her fingers. “What are you doing here?”
“You don’t look very ill to me.”
She blinks, frowns, looks completely caught off guard. “I’m—”
“And why the fuck did you tell Len you’re getting a cab?”
“I wa—”
“And cash at this time of night? For what?”
“I—”
“Get in the fucking car.” I throw my arm back, indicating my Mercedes down the street.
She recoils. “Excuse me?”
“Now.”
“Fuck you, Brad,” she whispers angrily. “Go fuck some whores in a hotel and shove some coke up your fucking nose.” She tosses her can of soda in a nearby trashcan with anger and accuracy—that pisses me off too—then storms past me, taking a long drag of her smoke, and I turn with her, watching her go. Fuck you?
No, fuck you.
She doggedly marches straight past my Mercedes, and to add insult to injury, flips me the bird.
“The fuck?” I go after her, my ego ruling me. She is one brave woman, and I’m a killer in a foul mood. “I said, get in the fucking car.”
“And I said, fuck you.”
“Get in the fucking car!” I grab her bare arm and yank her to a stop, and she swings toward me, her creamy skin taking on a fiery blush.
“Get the fuck off me!”
I get up in her face, enraged, heaving like a bull, and she doesn’t back down, getting up in my face too, her green eyes blazing.
But I’m suddenly at a loss for words.
Forgotten why I’m here.
Angry.
Pissed off.
Losing my fucking mind.
Fuck.
The smell of lavender mixed with nicotine hits me like a bulldozer and electricity sizzles between our close chests. She stares up at me, toe to toe, waiting. My eyes move to her lips. The new gold ring. She bites at it.
Jesus Christ.
My dick pounds against the back of my pants, and that just inflames the anger more. What the fuck is my body doing? These reactions? “Get in the fucking car, Pearl, or God help me, I will put you in there myself.”