Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 131926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
He pushes off the wall and steps right into me, so close that I could easily slip my knee through the bars and slam it right into his junk, showing an incredible amount of bravery for his balls. Though, a guy like Carver could dodge out of the way and have me in a headlock before my knee has even made it past his thigh, yet he still doesn’t say a damn word, just stands there looking all sorts of pissed off.
“I swear, Dante,” I spit, his real name on my lips giving me far too much power. “Fucking say what you came to say and get the fuck out of here. I can’t stand to look at you a second longer than necessary.”
Hurt seeps through his stare, but before I get a chance to call him out on it, he dips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a key. I watch him closely, my heart beginning to race.
What the fuck is he doing with a key?
His eyes tighten and I watch as he reaches across to the lock on my cell and slips the key straight in. His stare never leaves mine, and I watch the exact moment that he realizes I’m fucking terrified of what he might do.
My heart thunders, racing with fear. The last time he got close enough, he tried to kill me, and right now, I don’t have the security of the boys and the rest of the organization standing at my back. If he were any other person, I could take him. At least, I’d try, but Dante Carver … no. Even if he was trying to take my life, I don’t know if I have what it takes to end his first.
I watch him as he slowly twists the key, unlocking the door, and then slides the heavy lock out of place.
A new, louder silence falls around us as my heart hammers, my fear doubling by the second. The heavy lock falls back with a loud bang that makes me flinch, and I watch his every movement as his skilled fingers curl around the iron bars and slide the door out of his way.
I back up a step, hating that I’m showing my fear, but in this case, my fear is all I have left. Even though a part of me, deep, deep down is trying to tell me that I can still trust him, that I should trust him.
Carver takes a step forward and I notice how he keeps himself perfectly positioned so that I can’t run past him and free myself from his twisted game. “What are you doing?” I question, my voice wavering and instantly making me feel pathetic. I’ve always prided myself on my strength when facing impossible situations, but right now, I sound like a little bitch who’s about to beg on her hands and knees. That’s not me. I don’t let men get away with this kind of bullshit, but Carver is different. All four of them are different.
He stalks me, slowly walking toward me with his eyes locked on mine. Once upon a time, I used to love the feel of his eyes boring into mine. It was wild and unexpected, and the sexual tension was through the roof, but now … while it’s still intense and raw, it’s also full of secrets, lies, and uncertainty.
I back up another step and he continues to stalk me like a hungry lion chasing a mouse. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to finish what he started and then destroy the evidence. So why the fuck is my gut urging me to trust him?
Tears threaten to spring from my eyes, but I hold them back as I quickly run out of space. I will not let him see how weak he’s made me. I raise my chin. If this is it, if today is my last day on earth, then I’ll be going down with my head held high. “Just make it quick,” I tell him, my heart thundering so fast that it couldn’t possibly be healthy, but what does it matter?
Carver narrows his gaze and steps right into my personal space. His natural, manly scent wraps around me and I instantly long for the connection that pulsed between us every time he was near. My body craves his touch as my mind silently begs for him to hold me. Maybe if I’m a dead woman, I might be able to talk him into kissing me just one last time.
“I’m not here to kill you,” he says so naturally, as though talking about my death is a normal occurrence between us, though lately it really has been.
My brows furrow as I meet his dark stormy eyes. He looks so angry, so worn down and tired. It’s almost as though he’s the one who hasn’t been sleeping. “I don’t believe you,” I tell him, noticing how his hand flinches at his side, trying hard not to reach out and take my waist just as he always does, but at this point, he’ll be damn lucky if he ever gets this close to me again. “You’ve already tried to kill me twice. Third time’s a charm.”