Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Because I was asked,” I say, though asked might not be the right word, more like commanded.
“I can’t argue that my cousin always gets what he wants, but even you should have more caution. He will kill you, so why don’t you explain to me who sent you, and maybe we can offer some form of protection?”
I shoot him a wicked grin. “Don’t you think if I knew my client’s name, I would’ve given it to you after you knocked me out and had me tied to a chair? No hard feelings, by the way.”
“In all fairness, you threw a knife into my cousin’s leg, so I think we’re even.”
“But let’s not make it sound like we’re coming to a truce, right?” I angle my head with a provoking smile. His eyebrows furrow only slightly. I can tell that, much like the other men around Eli, he’s not sure what to do with a woman like me, and that in itself is satisfying.
Before he answers, I start for the door and security guard. “Raise your arms so I can pat you down,” the man orders suspiciously. Most likely because of how long I’ve been staring at the building. I sigh and do as he says, but Dutton steps up behind me and pushes one of my arms down.
“If you want to live past tonight, I suggest you don’t touch Eli’s guest.” His voice is firm, and the security guard straightens and turns a noticeable shade paler. He’s quick to step to the side and unhook the red rope.
On the plus side, it’s nice to know Dutton’s not only an ass to me but to everyone. Dutton walks behind me—more like guides me—into the devil’s lair.
The moment the music hits my ears, I’m overstimulated by the number of naked women dancing on what appears to be hovering neon cubes. Clumps of wildly drunk people bounce and cheer, pour alcohol into one another’s mouths straight from the bottle, and are basically fucking on couches.
It’s not the “gentleman’s club” style I was expecting at all. This is mafia on crack. I thought I dressed appropriately for this club, but it seems I’m wearing more clothing than most of the other women.
A woman walks past me with a tray full of various drugs. Two guys in a booth call her over and fish out some cash.
Dutton’s hand finds my lower back, his touch feather-light, as if touching me will scorch him, but it brings me back into the room instead of being swallowed whole by its chaos.
“Move. He’s already watching you,” Dutton says, and I follow his gaze to the second level that overlooks the crowd. Eli is leaning over the railing with a drink in his hand. I see only a few people behind him, and they blur in the background, my attention drawn solely to his unearthly eyes.
Dutton removes his hand and makes his way to the stairs that lead up to the second floor, but I don’t have it in me to follow like some good little girl.
I make a point to look away and lift my chin in a dignified manner, still able to feel his scorching gaze pinning me in place.
This might be his domain.
He might think he owns everyone.
But he doesn’t own me.
He certainly doesn’t control me.
So, I do what any sane girl does when she’s drawn the attention of a monster.
I make my way toward the bar.
I’m not sure why I continue to put myself in these situations. Admittedly, I had so much fun following him and learning about who he was, but I didn’t think the tables could turn so quickly. I mean, technically, I should have, knowing who this man is. I clearly underestimated my target, and that was a foolish thing to do.
When I reach the bar, I intentionally lean against it, bending over, fully aware that from his angle, he’ll be able to see the bottom of my ass beneath the skirt. I choose to work with my assets because they’re just as powerful as any weapon.
He may be better at this game than me, but he’s a man, and I am a woman in a short skirt who is used to getting her way.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I don’t bother turning to look at the man offering to buy me a drink. I couldn’t care less about him. If I wanted a drink, I’d buy it my fucking self.
“You want a drink or what?” he says impatiently. This time, I do turn to look at him. His thin lips are pulled back in a sneer, and his hair is so slicked back by gel that I wonder if the tightness of it is affecting his features. He’s clearly trying way too hard to impress. Little does he know he’s failing, especially regarding how to speak to a lady. I try not to laugh at that thought. Me? A lady?