Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“I felt the blow and blocked on instinct with a slip.” It was drilled into me how to block a kick or punch, arms up to defend the face while squatting to block the gut.
He nods.
“When he was on the downswing, I turned and jabbed him straight in the gut.”
“Did you get any names in your research?”
“Just Derrick Dossier, the man suspected but released on the rape and abduction charges.”
Cain picks up his phone and makes a call. “I want you to get everything you can on Derrick Dossier. Report on my desk within the hour.” He doesn’t even wait for a response but hangs up his phone and shoves it back in his pocket.
“This motherfucker’s playing us. He’s after you and may have my sister. We can’t fuck around anymore, Violet.”
There’s my name again.
“Yeah. I’m coming back with you. We need to put our heads together. Pool resources.”
He narrows his eyes. “What a novel concept. Pack a fucking bag.”
“Do you ever say please?”
He looks down, his eyes on my shins. I’m wearing a pair of shorts, my legs on full display. Angry purple bruises mark my shins from earlier.
“Did you get these from my truck?”
“Yeah, your truck can be pretty damn aggressive.”
He lifts one of my legs in his hands, cradling it just like he did my head. My heart beats faster at the rough feel of his hands on my skin and the way his brows draw together angrily, his mouth pressed tightly in a harsh frown. That focused, steady gaze unwavering.
He bends. My breath freezes. In shock, I don’t breathe when he places a tender kiss on my legs, his lips brushing across the black and blue so tenderly it’s barely more than a whisper. When I start breathing again, I’m acutely aware of the sound.
We don’t speak. Seconds tick by, the only sounds in the room are my heavier breathing and his gentle, fluttering kisses across my skin.
If he looks at me, there’s no turning back. If his eyes meet mine, I can’t tell him no.
He lets me go. I shiver at the loss of his warmth.
He stands and walks away from me.
I’m saved.
Then why do I feel so disappointed?
“I’m sorry. We have to get out of here. On second thought, you’re not packing. I’ll buy you whatever you need. We’re leaving now, and you’ll tell me the rest of what happened on the way back.”
“I can pack in less than a minute.” I’m already on my way to the closet. I need to walk away from him.
He grumbles but uses the time to toss the bandage wrappers away. I grab a quilted backpack Candi gave me from the back of my closet and quickly shove folded clothes, underwear, a pair of sneakers, and my phone in the bag. He’s waiting for me, his arms crossed over his chest. “Can you find the little pink bottle of lotion on the bedside table, please?”
I need to distract him so he doesn’t see what I grab next. No one sees that, not even Candi.
“I can get you as many little pink bottles of lotion as your heart desires, let’s go.”
“That’s a special one, it was for Candi’s bachelorette party.”
I got it as a freebie in the mail. I hope he doesn’t see through the lie.
Another grumble, but he fetches it just in time. I yank the zipper on my bag closed and get to my feet.
“You had a guard here, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t need—”
“You fucking did, and he better have a good excuse as to why he didn’t do his goddamn job.” He slams the drawer closed and turns to stalk over to me.
I could never, ever be with a man like him. Do this, do that. He’s about as supple as a steel rod, and I have to remember that.
They call him the executioner.
I can’t let the gentle side of him mess with my mind. That’s where women go wrong. They know in their heart a guy’s no good for them. They know it. Yet something he does makes them forget all logic and they believe the stupid lie that they have a magical pussy that somehow cures all, that he won’t ever drink/steal/lie again, or whatever the heck they tell themselves.
I won’t let that happen.
When my mind wants to replay the feel of his full, hot lips on my aching skin, I shove it away. When my brain wants me to remember that he came to find me, that I didn’t respond to his text and he knew I was in trouble and he came for me, I don’t let myself dwell.
He’s dangerous, ruthless, and arrogant, and so bad for me he’s poison.
Poison.
When we exit the building, I try to hide my fear. Logically, I know there is no madman waiting for me outside, but it still feels like there could be.