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)
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in a lethal tone that nearly had me dropping the plate in the sink.
“Uh…” I blinked up at him, still stunned that he was so striking, so young. The guy should be studying in college or modeling or acting or doing anything but watching in disbelief as I washed my own plate. “I didn’t want you washing the plate, and I figured it was some sort of test so I—”
He actually grinned at that. “I don’t wash plates.”
Of course he didn’t. Men like him paid people to wash plates and buy expensive chairs, and food.
He probably paid someone to chew for him too.
“I wasn’t suggesting you did, I just wanted to save whoever it was, the time.”
“Tell me, six thirty-two,” He rounded the bar. It was then that I realized how tall he was; at least five inches taller than me, obviously packed with muscle that made him look like he was prowling instead of stepping. “Is this the first plate you’ve ever washed?”
“No,” I said quickly as he moved behind me with such grace that I had a hard time focusing on the plate, on the tension in the room. “I was always in charge of dishes.”
“Hmm.” He seemed to like that answer. “So, you don’t mind working?”
What was he getting at?
“N-no.” I needed to get a grip. “I like working. It’s the sitting trapped in a room that drives me crazy.”
He was quiet.
Too quiet.
“And spas, how do you feel about spas?”
“I’ve never been,” I said honestly. My family didn’t want to pay for me to get anything done that wouldn’t be needed, especially if I was being saved as a last-ditch effort to toss at one of the other five families for peace. I was a bargaining chip, nothing more, nothing less.
And that’s all I knew.
Other than the fact that they would find great joy in marrying me off to a monster already used.
I shoved the shame deep down, away from the present, away from the conversation.
“I can tell,” he finally said, hitting what was left of my pride as I continued to wash a dish that was already clean, not knowing what else to do. “And laundry, how do you feel about laundry?”
Was this a job interview?
“I’ve done laundry, yes.”
“Have you ever had a job outside your pathetic house in the suburbs?”
I froze.
He knew where I lived.
Which means he knew who I was.
He knew my name.
Not just six thirty-two.
He knew.
And that meant I was already dead, didn’t it?
He wasn’t Italian.
But they would find me.
The monsters would find me.
And it would finally end.
I had nothing left to lose, so I turned and said, “I’m a De Lange, which you already—”
He cupped a hand over my mouth and shook his head slowly. “Utter that name one more time, and I’m going to be given no choice, do you understand?”
I nodded my head slowly as tears filled my eyes. He was close, too close. My brother used to put his hand over my mouth when he — I squeezed my eyes shut and waited, waited for him to pull up what was left of my shirt, to roll down my dirty leggings, to tell me I was disgusting, to tell me to beg for my life.
And then he stepped back.
“I may be ruthless, I may be a killer, I may be a lot of things, six thirty-two, but what I am not, what I will never be, is a fucking rapist.” His eyes were cold. “You’ll be safe as long as you stay anonymous, do you understand?”
“Safe from what?”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” He shrugged like it made him sad. “Maybe if they like you enough as six thirty-two, they won’t kill you for what you are.”
“A D—”
“Stop.”
I put the plate down on the counter and waited for the next words, for him to chain my ankles back up and march me back into the room where I would wait for the monsters to come, or worse, where he would come and talk to me, with his cold eyes and knowing stare.
With a sigh, he pointed down the hall. “Shower on the right, bedroom connected to that same bathroom. No escape, you’re still in prison. There’s only one difference now.”
“What’s that?”
He licked his lips and tilted his head, a predatory smile crossed his features as he whispered, “It’s mine.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Andrei
She stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. I wondered if it would be easier if I just communicated in nothing but Russian. Didn’t she see that I was saving her ass?
I expected her to burst into tears any minute or at least say thank you. Instead, she just stood there on her bloody battered feet, her body swaying like she was seconds from passing out.
Wouldn’t be the first time someone had done that in my presence. Then again, half was because of blood loss, I was sure of it.