Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Maybe,” he says calmly.
I’m taken aback by his agreement. Stunned.
This might actually work.
Smoke washes my body with a washcloth. He’s gentle and careful. His face twists in concentration as he maneuvers around the worst of the road rash on my arm.
This man is a lot more complicated than I initially thought.
He washes between my legs, never taking his eyes from mine. He drags the washcloth up, dragging it lightly over my nipples then lingering over the cut below my collarbone where he stares down with an expression of awe.
A LOT more complicated.
Smoke blinks rapidly, dropping the cloth into the tub. With a small plastic cup, he rinses my hair, careful not to get any water in my eyes. “There is one major difference between us you’re forgetting about. The most important one.”
“And what might that be?” I ask, as Smoke helps me to stand and wraps a towel around my shoulders.
Something cold and hard juts into the base of my spine and trails up the bone until my entire body is taut.
Smoke’s lips move against the tip of my ear, his voice rolling through me like thunder.
“I’ve got the balls to pull the trigger.”
Chapter Seventeen
Frankie is a shit actress. She’s worse than Rage because even Rage was convincing, at least for the first twenty minutes before you realize there is something very off about the blonde with murder written in her blue eyes.
But Rage was Meryl Fucking Streep compared to Frankie’s pitiful getting-to-know-you performance.
I toss her one of my large black t-shirts. It’ll be enormous on her but I’m exhausted and don’t feel like rummaging through the storage bins in the other room to see what other clothes might be there.
Frankie goes to put it on but winces when she raises her arms above her head. I walk over to her and steady the shirt helping her pull her arms through and then get back in bed. I go to remove a set of handcuffs off my wrist to tether her to the bed again.
“No! Please. No!” she begs, holding her already bruised and cut wrist.
It’s the first time I’ve really heard her beg. It sparks something within me, making my cock jump to attention.
I’m too fucking tired to do anything about it and I’m too fucking tired to think things to death. There will be time for all that shit tomorrow.
I secure the cuff back around my wrists. I kick off my jeans and can practically feel her panic as I get in beside her. I pull her back against my chest, wrapping my arms around her tiny body, resting my hands on her flat stomach. She smells like the lavender shampoo I just used to wash her hair. I begin to relax with my chin on top of her head when I feel her tremble against me.
“What are you doing?” she asks with a shaky voice.
“It’s this or the cuffs,” I tell her. It’s aggravating to even feel like I should explain why I don’t want to fuck her right now.
No matter how beautiful her trembling is. No matter how hard my cock swells as she takes a deep breath to steady herself, but doesn’t stop shaking.
Defiant little hellion.
“I fucking can’t sleep with you trembling like a frightened Chihuahua,” I scold.
“I just don’t know what you…I don’t want you to…” she says.
I sigh. “What you want doesn’t matter. Your ‘no’s’ don’t fucking matter. YOU don’t fucking matter. Now get some fucking sleep, before I cuff you, strip that shirt from your body, and show you first hand that you belong to me.”
“No. Please. I’m in high school,” she whimpers. “I’m seventeen. I’m too young—”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t give a shit how old you are, even though I know you’re twenty-two.”
I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself.
Especially to her.
She stops trembling and eventually falls asleep, making a soft snoring sound through her dried blood clogged nose. She’s small and warm and I find myself nuzzling my nose and lips into the crook of her neck inhaling the fresh scent of the bath soap.
“Tell me where your old man is and I’ll make this all go away,” I tell her even though she’s sleeping. It’s not true either. If her old man came to the fucking door right now and turned himself in it’s not like I could just let Frankie go. She knows and has seen too much.
She’s mine now.
I close my eyes, not expecting her to answer. I get one anyway. To my ears her words sound and feel like the beginning of the end.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
Chapter Eighteen
I’m lying on my side in a grassy field. Various rocks and pebbles stab into my back as I try to move. It smells like sour milk and rotten meat. I hear the crackling of fire along with echoes of screams in the distance.