Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
He stares at me for a full ten seconds, not blinking. And then a devastating smirk overtakes his face. "Firefly suits you. You burn hot enough to light up the dark, baby."
My stomach turns a somersault. Lord, he's dangerous. And that has bad idea written all over it. I'm good at giving other people hope that real love and fairytale endings exist. I stopped believing in them myself when I was ten…the same day my dad killed my mom. I don't need this man trying to change my mind now.
"I'm not your baby, Callum. You're here to do a job. That's it."
"Fine. We'll do it your way," he says.
For some reason, I don't think he means it.
Two seconds later, he confirms my suspicion.
"For now," he murmurs, pushing away from the wall. He stomps toward me, stopping when he's so close his cologne swirls in the air around me, clouding my senses with his rich, intoxicating smell. "But just so you know, the job ends as soon as your workday is over, Hope. Then, it's personal."
Chapter Three
Callum
Hope and I don't get a chance to talk until noon. She does a surprising amount of local business. We make it to the front of the shop just in time to rescue a young woman from Kieve. Locals trickle through the doors in a steady stream for the next few hours to chat, pick up cases of water, or browse the shop for crystals, gems, herbal teas, and a myriad of tinctures and remedies she sells. They seem to fall into two camps: the gray-haired denizens of town and those closer to her own age.
She has to lock Kieve behind the counter. Every time someone comes in, the dog goes berserk. He's a protective little monster. When no one else is around, he's chill. But as soon as someone steps through the front door, he turns into a pint-sized Cujo.
"Is he always like that?" I ask after he tries to bite an old man.
"No." Her shoulders droop. "He's been stressed out since someone tried to run us off the road a couple of days ago."
"He was with you?"
"He was my granny's dog before she passed," she says softly. "Now, he follows me everywhere. I don't go anywhere without him."
"You opened the shop a few months ago?"
"Three months ago."
"When did the attacks start?"
"Two and a half months ago."
My brows slash together. I was under the impression that the attacks just started, but they started immediately after she set up shop. "Someone wants to run you out of business."
"Someone wants to kill me," she mutters. "They weren't trying to scare me when they ran me off the road. They were trying to kill me."
"What makes you so sure?"
She lifts her gorgeous blue eyes to mine. "They cut my brake line first." Fear turns her gaze stark, darkening the lush green of her irises and dilating her pupils. "Had I not hit another vehicle, my car would have plunged over the cliff into The Falls."
"Jesus." My hackles rise. I've been out to The Falls. It's a waterfall that plunges down into a small body of water on the outskirts of town. The cliff isn't necessarily high, but it's a big enough drop to seriously injure or kill someone, especially if they careen over it in a fucking car. Whoever tried to ensure she went over the edge wasn't trying to scare her. They were trying to hurt her. "Do you have any idea who would want to hurt you, Firefly?"
"No," she whispers, shaking her head. "I don't have any enemies. Neither did my granny that I know of. She died six months ago."
"Any family with a grudge?"
"It was just the two of us." She swallows, busying herself with a stack of receipts to avoid my gaze. "Um, my mom is dead, and my dad is in prison."
"How long?"
"Forever."
"What were his charges?"
"It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago, and he has nothing to do with this. He's in prison and isn't getting out so it wasn't him," she mutters, still refusing to look at me. "He'll never get out."
I push myself away from the wall where I've been standing and stride toward her, refusing to let her block me from her line of sight while we have this conversation. Whatever she's ashamed of, it's not hers to carry. I plant myself directly in front of her, reaching across the counter to tip her chin up.
"Look at me, Firefly."
She resists for a long moment, willful and stubborn. She's going to be a handful, I already know. A thrill goes down my spine at the thought of teaching her to submit. I'm not a Dominant. I'm not into BDSM or any of that. But when she's in my bed—and she will be in my bed, I decided that as soon as I set eyes on her—she'll learn to obey. She'll learn to love it.