Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I come out a half an hour later in a shirt that could be a dress, looking like a prune, but feeling like a whole new person. I crawl back under the blanket to keep my bare legs warm and start finger-combing my curls. What’s the chance that that Cannon guy left a decent comb or brush lying around?
Expecting to get grossed out but willing to take the chance, I open the dented metal filing cabinet he set up as a bedside table. Tissues and a bottle of something that I poke out of the way with one finger. Ew. But under a fishing magazine, there’s what looks like it could be the handle of a brush. Excited, I grab for it, shrieking and nearly dropping it in shock when I realize what I found.
Apparently Cannon forgot to pack his gun.
The door flies open, and Tank is there. Surprised and not thinking about how it looks, I jump out of bed and hold the gun straight out at him like a cat showing their owner something cool they just caught.
“Easy, Kaylee. Let’s not do anything crazy,” he says in a low, calm voice, holding his hands out so I can see them.
“I’m not—I mean, I know what this looks like but I—”
“What’s your plan, baby? You can’t shoot your way out of here. There’s a lot of people and a lot more guns between you and the gate. I don’t know where you got that, but how about you put it down and we talk?” He moves very slowly my way.
Does he really think I’m going to shoot him? “No, I—”
He’s on me before I can explain myself, his hands wrapped firmly but gently around my wrists. He spins me so my back is to his chest, and he twists the gun out of my fingers and tosses it on the bed. With the gun out of the way, he loosens his grip and his fingers trace the welts left by the handcuffs.
“I know you’ve been through some shit, baby, but we’re not going to hurt you.” Tank’s deep voice rumbles against my back. He starts to let me go.
“Wait. Can you just hold me for a little longer?” I whisper. Out of the three of them, Tank feels the biggest and safest, and right now that feels pretty freaking amazing.
After a moment’s pause, like he didn’t expect that, he moves us to the bed and settles, his arms still tight around me. It takes me a minute to realize that I can feel the steady beating of his heart and another minute to notice that his face is pressed to the back of my head and he's breathing me in. The gentleness is almost too much to take. My throat burns.
Tank shifts me to face him, but doesn’t let go. “Where'd you find the gun, baby?”
“It was in the drawer. I wasn't snooping, I swear. I was just looking for a brush. That's the first time in my life I've ever even held a gun.”
His sudden laugh bounces me on his broad chest. “He's called Cannon because he's bald as a fucking cannon ball. And I could tell you’re not a gun nut, because that's a lighter.”
“What?”
Tank reaches over and grabs what still looks like a handgun to me. He pulls the trigger, and instead of a bullet or a clicking sound, an intense red flame shoots out the end. “Yeah, his old lady gave it to him for his birthday a couple years ago. He thinks it's hilarious.”
I fall back onto his chest with a groan. “Why did you let me think I was actually holding a gun?”
“Baby, if someone points something at you that looks like a fucking gun, you treat it like one,” he answers without even a hint of humor. Tank strokes a comforting hand up and down my side.
I don't notice at first, but each stroke pulls the t-shirt up just a tiny bit, until a big, warm hand rests on my bare thigh. We both freeze.
“Kaylee,” he says my name like it's a warning. “We should really get you more fucking clothes.”
“That would, um, make sense,” I answer, but I don't pull away. It feels too good to be with him like this and every cell of my body is craving affection after being scared for so long.
His hand slides further under the hem of the t-shirt, coming dangerously close to my hip. The way he looks at me, it’s almost like the hand’s doing it on its own. “This isn't a good idea.”
I should pull away. I don't. “I know.”
Tank slides his hand right up to my ass and cups it, lifting me higher on his chest. “Fuck, you could get me in so much trouble, little girl.”
Thick, strong fingers tease the apex of my bare thighs. He looks at me, his clear blue eyes burning. His touch is so light and teasing, and somehow I get it in my head that it can erase all the things that Harris did. And as soon as I decide that I find I'm desperate for more. I open my legs just a little, willing him to do something.