Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Is that his chin? Well, that’s what I see first—it’s narrow with scruff.
My mind starts to put things back in place, like a jigsaw puzzle.
This asshole asked me to dance.
I said no.
He walked away.
And yet, how am I here with him?
I try pushing again and again, but he hardly moves with my thrusting hands.
“Last chance,” the other voice adds.
The man who’s hovering over the top of me starts to laugh. “You have no idea who I am.”
“I don’t care,” the stranger replies.
My eyes flutter as I suck in a deep breath, and just as I’m about to scream, my attacker is off me, and the cold instantly assaults my body. Usually I dislike the cold, but right now, I welcome it with great pleasure and hope the warmth doesn’t return.
Somehow, I move my legs and manage to roll over. It’s then I realize I’m on the ground and still fully clothed, thankfully. The cement bites into my hands as I try to push myself up with every ounce of energy I can muster. However, I don’t get far when I hear a loud grunt followed by someone forcing me over.
That’s when I fall, and my head hits the ground and bounces. If I didn’t already have fuzzy vision, I do now.
Calloused hands touch me, but they’re not the same ones from before.
How do I know that? I have no idea.
With what little strength I have remaining, I try to move, but my body is spent.
Why?
Shit.
I was drugged, wasn’t I?
“Name?” the stranger asks.
I’m lifted into strong arms before I can respond, my body bouncing and my head lolling as he walks. He smells of the ocean breeze and something far more sinister. Darker.
When he asks my name again, I have nothing to give him. My mind won’t cooperate enough to let words escape my lips. I’m telling myself it’s simple, just say your name, but it’s useless because nothing works.
“Woman, I’m taking you to the hospital,” he barks.
Those words have me squirming in his arms. No, no… That’s the last place I want to go.
“Fuck, woman, stay still!”
Somehow, I manage to croak, “No.”
“Okay, no hospital. But you need care. You’re bleeding.”
The heat radiating from his body is too much, and for some reason, I want the cold to return. He starts moving again, this time a little faster.
The heat vanishes as I’m placed on leather, then a car door is closed.
“Sleep,” he orders.
I’m not sure why, but in some strange way, right now, I feel safe. Which is ludicrous, considering I have no idea where I am, who I’m with, or what the hell is going on.
Perhaps I’m crazy? I’m not sure.
But I listen to his words and drift off into the blackness.
Chapter 3
Is he a god, or married?
Oriana
“You’re finally awake. You’ve been sleeping all day.”
I’m sitting up in a bed I do not recognize, in a place I have never been before.
What on earth is this place?
There are beds and couches everywhere, but it’s void of people except him. My eyes find him sitting on one of the couches, with one leg resting over the other while his hand taps his thigh.
“Where…” Ah, my voice is back. It seems everything is back because I feel like I can string a sentence together, and that’s what I do when I ask him, “Where am I?”
“In my establishment.”
Three words? That’s all I get in return.
He’s holding a cigar in one hand, the other is still tapping on his leg, though the action looks strained. Tense.
“Why am I here?” I attempt to stand, but my head spins and I instantly see stars, so I sit straight back down.
“Because I caught you in a situation last night. One you may not have consented to.”
I take him in as he watches me calmly. His dark hair is on the longer side, not overly long but enough so he could tie it back. His eyes, which are almost charcoal in color, seem somewhat intimidating—it’s as if they can see right through me. He’s tall, dressed in dark jeans, a white button-up shirt, and brown boots.
“And you believe in consent?” I ask. Though after what he did for me, I think the answer is clear.
He waves a single hand around his establishment. “You’re in a place where consent is key.”
“I’m…” I shake my head, “confused.”
“How is your head feeling? The doctor had to add a stitch or two, so you may have a few of those red locks missing.”
I immediately reach up and touch the back of my head, where, indeed, some of my hair is missing. “Thank you. What do I owe you?” I ask.
“I have a doctor on hand.” He butts out his cigar and stands. “You were drugged and you’ve been sleeping it off. In case you weren’t coherent enough, he didn’t rape you, though he was going to.”