Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Oh yeah, because I was stupid and begged Matthew for protection.
Something cold and wet touches my hands, sliding up my arms. Oh god, what is that?
“There, that’s better,” Simon says and my eyes pop open.
“Better?” I repeat dumbly and glance down.
The fucker even wiped off my arms and hands with a wet wipe of some sort.
“Yes, better,” Simon says, his eyes locked on the swells of my breasts. “Now you’re not covered in that stripper’s disgusting, dirty blood.”
I can’t even. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him?
He’s starts to reach for me again and I jerk back, crying out, “There’s none on my bra, asshole!”
Simon pauses in mid-grab, blinks, then shakes his head as if he’s trying to come out of something.
After a couple of seconds, he says, “You’re right,” and pulls away.
Damn straight, I’m right. I have to bite my tongue though to keep from spitting more venom at him. Lord knows he deserves it, but I’m done fighting him. I’ve had enough excitement for one night, thank you very much.
Settling back in his seat, he rolls down his window and tosses my shirt and the wipe out like it’s garbage. The window rolls back up as he refocuses his attention on the road, and we’re moving again.
He’s so damn calm, so damn cool, it’s like nothing just happened. I really don’t understand him. I really don’t understand why he was so upset there was blood on me and doesn’t give a fuck about all the blood on him.
And why did he almost go for my bra? That’s the part I really don’t get. If he were a normal, hot-blooded man, then I’d totally get it. But he’s not. He’s a fucking freak. He’s… inhuman. And I’m not the only one who thinks it. In the short amount of time I’ve spent in this hell-hole of a city, I’ve overheard some of Matthew’s men crack jokes about him being a spider masquerading as a human.
With my hands handcuffed in front of me, the shoulder strap of the seatbelt rides up, towards my face, and I have the strongest urge to try and chew my way through it.
“What’s that perfume you’re wearing?” Simon asks out of the blue, his voice back to that cool monotone I’m so fond of.
I look at him sideways. Is this another weird thing he’s going to use to attack me?
“I don’t wear any perfume,” I say slowly, cautiously. Doing my best not to provoke him.
His gaze jerks towards me. Why is he so surprised by this? Do I stink or something?
I lick my lips nervously and further explain. “I find most perfumes to be too strong, or they make me smell like an old lady.”
Simon’s nostrils flare and then he gives a sharp nod of his head before looking back to the street.
I watch him tense up again, his knuckles going white as he clutches the steering wheel. Somehow, someway, I’ve managed to piss him off again.
The rest of the drive is spent in a tense, uncomfortable silence.
The lights and cramped together buildings of the city fade away, giving way to woods. We turn and drive up a winding, secluded road, and I start to tense up. Where is he taking me? Obviously not back to the townhouse that’s been my prison...
The winding road goes on for a couple of miles before a house appears in the distance like a beacon. It’s white and ultra-modern. Looking completely out of place in the middle of the forest. The brick walls reach at least three stories high, and large, chrome-like windows reflect the moonlight that hits them.
We pull up in front of a gate set in a white brick wall that matches the house, and all the security cameras pointing at us makes me feel like we’re entering the liar of an evil spy movie villain.
“Where are we?” I ask, taking everything in. Plotting and planning how I’m going to get out of this.
The white brick wall surrounding the house is at least ten feet high and it’s going to be a real bitch trying to climb it.
“My house,” Simon answers as the gate opens and we roll through it.
The gate doesn’t even extend all the way out before it quickly begins to close behind us. It’s made up of black wrought-iron bars and they’re so close together there’s no hope of me squeezing through them.
“Why are we here? Why not take me back to the townhouse?” I ask as we pull up to a garage.
Damn, I never thought I’d actually want to go back to the townhouse, but the thought of staying in Simon’s house is giving me the heebie-jeebies.
The garage has four doors and is so large it appears to be its own separate building attached to the main structure.
Simon rolls up to the second door and it begins to lift before he answers like I should know the answer. “Because, Meredith, Lucifer has tasked me with your protection.”