Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“Give me every inch,” I pant. His length punishing me. “Fuck me, Callan—just like that.” I moan, my pussy pulsing around him as I bounce on his dick. “You’re making me cum so hard,” I cry out. An animalistic growl claws up his throat as his seed pumps into me. Nothing exists, only our pleasure as we fall over the edge.
Lowering me onto my shaky legs, he kisses me like he has the power to grant life or take it away.
I’d allow him to do either.
“You’re perfect.” He strokes his thumb over my bottom lip.
“I love your cock,” I murmur, and he spurts out a contagious chuckle.
A crack pierces the air, jolting me to the present. The gunshot signals the end of Edward Jarvis, the Blind Date Killer.
“Come on.” Callan grabs us towels from a stack across the room and wraps one around me before himself.
“We have spare clothes here, but they may be a bit big on you.”
Dusting his hands over his body with the towel, he opens a cabinet, pulling out sealed sweatpants and shirts.
“What will you do with him?” I ask, taking the clothes from him and tearing the bags open.
“We have an incinerator.” Of course they do. “Your clothes will be going in there too. I’m sorry. I know I owe you a whole new closet by now.” He pulls the sweats up his legs. We look like convicts being inducted into prison life. The sweats drown me, but I’m not here to make a fashion statement.
Footsteps enter the room, tapping against the tiles. “Oh, sorry—I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Monster announces, stark naked, covered head to toe in blood, the hair surrounding his face soaked in crimson.
“We’re just leaving,” Callan informs him, as I stand there struck silent. What the hell did he do, eat him?
“He didn’t give it up. If he killed her, he’s taken the facts to the underworld.”
What if it wasn’t him?
Then we keep going until we find him. Callan’s words buzz through my mind.
“Thank you, either way. For everything,” I say, finding my tongue.
“You’re one of us. A sin against one is a sin against all. We’ll find this fucker,” he promises before turning to the showers and blasting the one Callan and I just exited. Intertwining our fingers, Callan leads me back through the outhouse to his bike.
The sky turns dark and angry, heaven denying the killer entry. A chirping comes from Callan’s saddle bag. Shifting through the leather, he pulls his phone out and frowns, answering the call.
“What is it?” Whispers catch in the wind, the trees hissing as thunder booms in the sky. Rain begins pelting down on us, the sky darkening further. A cold chill settles in my bones as Callan stares at me, his lips parting. “I’ll be right there.” Water cascades down on us, and I shiver at the intensity of it.
Something haunts his face that has me reaching for him. “What is it?” I ask, my lips trembling.
“It’s my dad.” A crease mars his brow. “He’s awake.”
CHAPTER 8
AWAKE
An ominous chill skates over my flesh. Waves of goosebumps raise across the surface of my skin. Callan’s words sit like a stone in my chest. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. We put one monster down tonight only for another to awaken. The world always finds a balance.
Shutters come down over Callan’s eyes. A dark fierceness stares back at me, the storm raging above and inside us both. “We need to go,” he states, rain dripping from his lips.
Leaving his bike, he takes my hand and jogs across the parking lot. The rain comes down harder, stinging as it bounces off my head. We climb the steps leading to the back entrance of the compound. Callan enters a keycode, disengaging the locks. Pulling the door open, he ushers me inside. My body quivers, the water penetrating the fabric of the sweats to my skin beneath. “What about your bike?” I mutter, jerking my chin at the door, the cold shaking my voice.
Pulling the door closed, he looks down at me. Our bodies are inches apart, our breathing strained. “I’ll get it later.”
The atmosphere has shifted since the call, a heaviness pushing down on us. “Callan,” I begin, placing a hand to his chest. He stops me by capturing my face in both hands and angling my head to his lips, brushing them over mine. Such a tender touch, so contradictory to the strong, formidable man who wields it.
Pulling away, he rests his forehead against mine, dragging his thumb along my jawline in delicate strokes as if everything between us is suddenly this fragile, breakable thing.
“Let’s get out of these clothes,” he whispers against my mouth. My core throbs at his words. I wish we had more time before potentially pulling the pin on the grenade sitting between us.