Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Like I wanted him to hold me and tell me it was going to be okay.
But I knew I was nothing more than a prisoner to him.
A new toy he could dress up until he was bored.
That’s probably why Georgie didn’t seem surprised to see me in there.
He’d been surrounded by beautiful women all his life, and he was right. I had nothing special that he wanted.
Hadn’t my brother said the same thing?
I hung my head just as Andrei whispered behind me. “I’m adding a layer.”
“So you cut tongues and hair?”
He tugged harder than he needed to, making me wince. “Are you actually teasing the man with the weapon?”
“Are you actually cutting a whore’s hair?” It was out before I could stop it. I meant it as a way to deflect what I knew in my heart was true.
My brother had made me a whore.
My dad had allowed it.
And this man was going to sell me for it, wasn’t he?
Big fat tears collected in my eyes.
I refused to let them fall.
A gloved hand touched my shoulder, I was being slowly turned around to face him. I didn’t want to look at his cold ruthless eyes. I knew what I would see there.
Indifference.
I hated it more than the rage I saw in my brother’s eyes, because at least I could react and plan.
With Andrei I just hoped and waited.
“Look at me,” he snapped.
I lifted my head, and when I wasn’t lifting it fast enough he shoved two gloved fingers below my chin and gripped it tight. “Call yourself a whore again, and you won’t like the consequences.”
“Isn’t that what this is? Georgie said something about being sold.”
“Do you have chains around your ankles, six thirty-two?”
“No.”
“Do you have a tattoo on your ankle with a lock on it?”
“No,” I rasped.
“Then you aren’t one of the women being sold. And in order to stay that way, in my good graces and in God’s, I’d suggest you stand still so I don’t accidently give you bangs. You would look shitty with bangs.”
I frowned. “What sort of—”
“Shhh…” He smirked, then, like he was enjoying himself. “It’s been a while since I’ve cut hair.”
“Alarming,” I muttered, earning another small smile that was gone too soon as the sound of snipping filled the air.
He was gentle.
It was strange.
The man with the leather gloves who cut out tongues had a gentle touch.
I would have preferred rough.
I had no idea what to expect when he pulled away with pieces of my hair clutched in his hand.
He held my hair up to his nose and sniffed and then he tucked the cut pieces into his jean pocket and crossed his arms. “Not bad.”
“Not bad but not good either?” I asked in a small voice.
“Asking for compliments?” He was so close I could almost taste the cologne he wore — it was warm, spicy.
“N-no.” I ducked my head.
“Pity, because I would have given you one.” He jerked his head toward the bathroom. “Go dress, you’re about to be thrown into a den of hungry lions, only worse, they’re Italian and they hate vodka. Mention your name and you won’t make it out of their cave alive, understand?”
“Yes.” I straightened my shoulders and locked eyes with him. “I’m six thirty-two… I don’t have a name.”
“Good girl,” he whispered. “Very, very, good.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Andrei
She had two minutes before we were supposed to be leaving.
When she had one minute left, the bathroom door swung open. She had her hair in a high ponytail, and the black cocktail dress did wonders for her already curvy body.
It was a simple little black dress that had a high neck in front and a scooped back. It was form fitting and it looked perfect with the nude spiked Valentino heels.
I grabbed a long fake fur coat from the rack and held it out to her. “Time to go.”
Her eyes widened as she slipped into it and then held it close like the fur was comforting to her skin.
Hmm.
I held out my hand to her.
She stared at the gloves.
New gloves.
Ones that didn’t that have blood on them, not that it mattered since blood followed me wherever I went.
After a brief hesitation, she placed her hand in mine. I held it tight, mainly because I wanted to show ownership when we walked down the halls and through the bar.
People needed to know they couldn’t touch her.
Not without my consent.
“Don’t make eye contact with anyone. They’ll think it’s an invitation, and I’ve already hit my quota on murders today.”
“Okay.” Her voice was weak; her skin was pale.
Shit.
She looked like she was walking to her death.
They needed her to look… alive.
Content.
Not scared for her life.
Those men, they smelled fear. They lived for it. They wanted the ones that were scared because they fucking got off on it.
Shit.
“You need to look more excited than that,” I said once I pulled the door open. “More confident. I need you to play a part, do you understand me?”