Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
He was the only pet I’d ever had.
I was heartbroken.
“Oh, fuck. No. Don’t do that,” Voss said as I couldn’t stop it, and a tear slid down my cheek as I started to sniffle.
I’d been raw emotionally since the attack.
But I’d been managing to hold it together, compartmentalizing it to be dealt with later.
This, though, this was the final push that my emotions needed to bubble up and pour all over.
It wasn’t pretty, either.
I’d never been a dainty and delicate crier.
I was all horrific sniffling with lots of tears and face scrunches and pretty loud whimpering.
“Listen, I’ll find him,” Voss said, desperate to find the thing to say to make the tears stop.
If I wasn’t in the midst of a little breakdown, I actually would have found his masculine discomfort at feminine tears pretty fucking funny.
“I’ll find him and then I’ll… eviscerate the fuck who stole him,” he tried. “So stop crying. I’ll fix it,” he said, sounding more and more lost with each passing second as my body racked with my sobs. “I’ll fix it, Sylvie,” he said, and, somehow, the soft way he said my name made an even louder sob escape me.
“Okay. Ah… it’s gonna shake out,” he said, his hand patting my back awkwardly.
Then, when that didn’t help, his hand started to move up and down my spine.
I was not someone who leaned on other people.
It just… wasn’t something I’d been able to do in childhood, so it wasn’t something I thought myself capable of in adulthood. No matter how shitty things got.
But, somehow, I felt myself leaning over into him, my head hitting his strong arm.
He smelled like leather and a hint of some spicy, masculine scent. Soap or deodorant. Something like that.
“I’ll fix it,” he said again, and this time his arm was going around me, giving me one tight squeeze.
It didn’t sound like a hollow sentiment, either.
It sounded like a vow.
From this man who didn’t know me, who had no responsibility to care for me.
A bad guy, even.
But, clearly, one with a good heart.
The good thing about my little breakdowns was that they were loud and dramatic, but short-lived.
So I only cried against him for another couple of minutes before it was all over, and I was trying to wipe my face on my shoulders since my hands were still covered in substrate from Irwin’s cage.
“Okay. Well, that’s over,” he said, and the relief in his voice had a strange, choked little laugh escaping me.
“Can you help me get up?” I asked. “I need to wash my hands.”
“Your face too,” he said, looking at me.
And, yeah, that made another little laugh escape me. You had to appreciate a guy who called it like he saw it.
Then he was getting to his feet, reaching down, grabbing me under my forearms, and pulling me up to my feet.
“Fucked up that ankle even worse?” he asked when I tried to put the lightest bit of pressure on it to hobble over toward the sink.
“I wasn’t really thinking straight,” I admitted.
“Been there,” Voss said.
Then, I shit you not, this big, burly, badass biker swooped low and scooped me up into his arms.
He scooped me.
If I was a swooning type of woman, I would be all a-flutter right then, I swear, as he carried me across my apartment and into my bathroom, where he slowly set me down.
“What?” Voss asked after I washed my hands and scraped under my nails.
“I should take a shower,” I said, looking in that direction.
“No.”
“No?” I asked.
“You got some fuck in here stealing your lizard, your panties, and your vibrator, and you think stripping down is a good idea?”
“You think… you think he might have put up cameras?” I asked, heart thrumming at the idea.
“Crazy people do crazy shit.”
“Before or after this break-in?” I asked, gaze moving around the room, seeing it all through different eyes.
How many times had I stripped out of my clothes in my bedroom? Had made a naked dash out of the shower because I forgot to grab a towel? Walked around my living room in nothing but panties and one of those bralette things that hid almost nothing?
And, worse yet, how many times had I taken that vibrator out of my panty drawer and climbed onto the bed, stripped down, and brought myself to an orgasm or five?
“Oh, God,” I groaned, raising my hands to my face.
“Hey, I’m not saying there are cameras,” Voss said. “Just saying it’s not a chance I’d take,” he added, and it seemed to be his own brand of consoling.
“Okay,” I agreed, taking a deep breath, trying to pull myself together. I felt pulled all apart, tugged in a dozen different directions at once.
“I can go over the place with a fine-tooth comb. But not right now. So grab some shit. Pack a bag. And you can shower back at the clubhouse for now.”