Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. My eyes are on the door handle as it turns and the door swings open. My heart leaps out of my chest and my stomach drops before relief hits as Kitty marches into the room, her arms loaded with clothes. My hand flies to my chest and I breathe out. I think I’ve aged fifty years tonight alone.
Her eyes wide, mouth dropping open, she dumps the pile on a chair then strides toward me. “What the fuck is that?”
I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to think of something to say.
“Did you get hit tonight?” Her fingers stroke over my shoulder blade, jarring me.
“What?” I pull the towel tighter around myself, trying to ensure it is long enough to hide my secret.
“You have a nasty-looking bruise forming.” Lines crease her forehead as she inspects my skin. She’s still wearing the same clothes caked in stains. Her pretty face is red and swollen, her makeup left as black smudges under her eyes.
“I hit it on the bar top.” I haven’t even noticed it, but I do recall my weight hitting the bar when I smashed the bottle over that guy’s head. A hiss flees my lips when she pushes down on it.
“I can ask Diamond for an ice pack…”
I scoff. “I’m a badass, remember?”
She moves to leave. “You really were a badass tonight. I’ll never forget what you did.”
Before I can summon a response, she’s gone again.
I dry off then hurry into a pair of sweatpants and a crop top. Finger-combing my hair, I go back inside Callan’s room and crawl into his bed. His scent engulfs me, dragging me into slumber.
I wake with a start as the door across the room slams, sounding like a boom next to my ear. My bones ache. My eyes are sore, but I fight to keep them open. The shower turns on, and movement inside the bathroom draws me across the room. I tap on the wood before I open the door and peek around.
Callan’s standing in front of the mirror, dabbing a cloth on a small cut on his brow. He’s wearing a different set of clothes than he left in, but there’s blood discoloring this shirt now too. Speckles of blood dust his face like freckles.
“What happened?” I move into the room to come up beside him, and take the cloth.
“Had to take care of something.” His jaw is rigid as I look up to inspect the cut. “It’s nothing.” Dark eyes burn into me through the mirror. He takes my hand and presses his lips to my fingers, then opens the cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out a roll of garbage bags, tearing one free and handing it to me. Tugging his shirt over his head, he drops it into the bag, his muscles taunt over his creamy flesh, flexing with his movements. Swirling ink covers his lower and upper arms expanding across his broad shoulders. He is so much bigger than Tyler. Callan could probably snap him like a twig if he wanted to.
Unzipping his jeans, he shoves them down his legs, kicks them off, and adds them to the bag. I reach out, stroking my fingers over a large scar near his ribs. He lets out a puff of air that blows over my face, shifting my hair. “Knife,” he says, his voice a husky murmur. My mouth waters at his cock thickening in the tight boxers he’s wearing. I’m not sure if I woke up or if I’m dreaming.
Steam billows from the shower, disguising the heat building within me. A shiver dances up my spine when he licks his lips. If possible, his eyes darken further. I want to surrender to this madness building inside me. Want this man to devour me. There’s no Devil, no King—just a man and woman who want to fuck each other’s souls out. No, it’s so much more than that.
“Rogue.” His voice is a pained grunt, a warning that travels straight to my core.
“Can I watch?” I utter, biting down on my lip, my eyes hooded, and my chest heaving. Seconds pass as the atmosphere hums with an electric rhythm.
Lowering his boxers, he places them in the bag and turns for the shower. I see the insignia splayed across his back—a blaring reminder of who I’m trapped in this insanity with.
I’ve never seen a more perfect specimen in my whole life. I feel his eyes everywhere when he turns to look at me over his shoulder before stepping into the shower. Water caresses this flesh, soaking him, and dammit, I want that to be me and my tongue. Observing me, he lathers the body wash and rinses the stains from his skin and hair. My feet move on their own, needing to be closer.