Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
I did that—babbled and smiled when nervous.
He obviously worked for Stone. He’d had him on the phone, after all, a detail that had floated out of my mind. As if I could erase Stone’s very existence. I hadn’t realized just how quickly my mind would fracture in a situation as unbelievable as this. My brain was already attempting to erase memories to protect me from them.
I was looking right at him. My nameless abductor, road trip buddy, Midnight Man. Parts of me didn’t want to. Look at him, that was. Though he was hauntingly attractive, there was something unnerving about staring at him in such an enclosed space. The act of even speaking to him felt dangerous. But I pushed past that. Showing my fear would not do. You didn’t do it with horses, and you didn’t do it with mafioso enforcers or whatever his title was.
Until this point, he’d been looking straight ahead. But his head tilted enough so his eyes slid to me. It took all my effort not to plaster myself against the door and let out a little scream. I might’ve peed myself a little. Mostly out of fear but also because I’d been holding it since we left and was too embarrassed to ask for a bathroom break. One of the many things in this situation that didn’t make sense. I should be shaking with fear, terror; embarrassment shouldn’t have been anywhere in the mix.
I didn’t break eye contact, even though I really, really wanted to. The weight of his gaze wasn’t just terrifying, it was probing, ice barbs pricking at my skin, awakening something inside me I didn’t know existed. The magnetism I felt toward this man was unexplainable. And unhinged. It had to be some kind of psychological effect from being kidnapped.
“I work for Stone,” he finally said. He didn’t remind me of the exchange in the car or seem at all surprised at my amnesia, holding my eyes longer than was technically safe for the driver of a motor vehicle to be averting his eyes from the road.
Though a car crash was likely the least of my worries. And inexplicably, I knew this man wouldn’t crash. There was no way he would let ordinary dangers come to me. I felt safe with him. In that respect, at least. I was more than aware that I definitely wasn’t safe in any other ways.
I swallowed heavily. “Good.” It was an effort to keep my voice light, even.
Only because I was watching him so intently did I see the very slight twitch to his eyebrow. Before this, his face was so expressionless, it could’ve been made of marble.
“I wouldn’t say it’s good that I work for Stone De Luca,” he remarked dryly.
My bones trembled at the tone of his voice. Fear. Yes, fear was a living being inside of me. But I couldn’t deny that was the only thing I felt. There was also warmth. From the vicinity between my legs.
Unlike my sister, I did not have a bad boy infatuation.
Until now.
Not that the man beside me was a boy.
I had a hard time imagining he’d ever been a boy. This man had never been a defenseless, cute, squishy baby. No, he’d burst onto this earth ready to fuck shit up. Like an orc. Just a lot more handsome.
“No, it’s not good,” I agreed, thrumming my fingers on my thighs. “None of this is good.”
Most especially my burgeoning obsession with this man, my inability to stop looking at him, cataloguing every inch of him.
“Oh, Jesus.” I ran through the situation in my mind, picking at my cuticles. “I’m going to be on a segment of 60 Minutes one day. Maybe I’ll even get my own Netflix special if Daisy is dramatic enough about it … which she will be. My colleagues will all go on. Even Trina, and she hates me. But she’ll be talking about how we were best friends. How I lit up the room.”
I looked back at him, his profile sharp. He didn’t seem to be listening, but the sound of my own voice was better than silence.
“Have you ever noticed that murder victims always ‘lit up a room?’” I made air quotes. “I mean, sure, some of them might’ve. But just by law of averages, they couldn’t all have been angels. Even murder victims can be bitches.” I toyed with a thread on my jeans. “Do you think that death does that to the people who survive it? Makes them remember people differently? Better?”
For a moment, I thought of my parents, cataloging my memories of them. Not a single one was pleasant. They were all thorny and painful.
“No,” I decided. “Death doesn’t do that to people. TV does. Some people lie, doing whatever it takes, to be on TV.” I pause, nibbling on a dry piece of skin on my lip. “Although I do hope people lie for the airtime. I don’t want to be remembered as a bitch. I’m not a bitch. But if Trina decides to make up stories about me on national TV… well, I guess I won’t be around to care, will I?”