Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 137205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
His gaze hits mine, but he’s clearly not concerned about me seeing his face.
“I knew it was you,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” His eyebrows rise. “You want a fucking sticker?”
My cheeks flush. I was going to tell him I recognized him by his ink, but he clearly doesn’t give a damn.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m nobody.”
I’ve lost his interest, apparently. He tosses his ski mask on the seat beside him and sits back, seemingly content for me to sit here on the floor at his feet.
“Where are you taking me?”
His gaze flickers back to me on the floor. “You ask a lot of questions.”
My eyes widen. “You kidnapped me! I have questions.”
“I saved you from Patrick Bateman,” he states. “You’re welcome.”
I can only gape at him.
He was a lot nicer when he was changing my locks.
He doesn’t say anything else for a while, doesn’t really pay attention to me at all. Given all the stuff he said back in the alley, though, I still have pressing concerns.
Feeling my expectant gaze on him, he sighs and looks back at me impatiently. “Yes?”
“Can’t you just tell me where you’re taking me? Are we going to your place, or…?”
He sits forward, bracing his palms on his muscular thighs so his inked fingers are on full display. “Why? Looking forward to it?”
My hearts sinks down to my hollowed out stomach.
“Nah, I’m not your type, am I?” he continues. “You like those pretty rich boys.”
Glancing pointedly around the insanely luxurious cabin of this car, I say, “Doesn’t seem like you’re hurting for money. Doesn’t seem like you’re a locksmith, either.”
“Hey, I’m a locksmith. I’m lots of things. A jack of all trades, I guess you could call me.”
“Is your name really John?”
“What do you think?” he answers.
“So what is it?” I ask. I don’t know why, I don’t really expect him to answer, but then he does.
“Arson.”
My eyebrows rise. “Because you’re someone who likes setting fires?”
“What can I say?” he says, giving up his intimidating position and relaxing in his seat. “Sometimes the shoe fits.”
“Is that your real name?”
He gestures in my general direction. “Are those your real tits?”
Instinctively, I cover my cleavage with one hand and frown. “Yes?”
He nods. “No wonder Cal’s so fucking obsessed with you.”
My heart skips a beat. “You… you know Calvin?”
“I know a lot of people.”
I sit on the floor, stunned by this revelation for longer than I probably should be.
Calvin told me he knew men who could kidnap me and bring me to him, I just… never thought that would actually happen.
I guess now at least I know where I’m going, and that I’m unlikely to be harmed before I get there. I know in my bones Calvin wouldn’t have sent this guy for me if he thought he might hurt me on the way to him.
“Why’d you say all that stuff back there? About me, about…”
Making me scream.
Arson shrugs. “Wanted to feel the guy out. Plus, abducting you makes more sense if I wanted to jam my cock down your throat, doesn’t it?”
Jesus, that’s blunt.
“But you’re not actually… going to,” I say, just to make sure.
He smirks. “Nah. Don’t worry. You’re not for me.”
“Just a package you’re delivering to some other lunatic?”
His smirk cracks into a ghost of a real smile. “Glad you understand.”
Chapter Twenty Five
Calvin
My lovely Hallie is not nearly as happy to see me as I am to see her.
I suppose I should have expected that.
Not only because I sent Arson—who’s not terribly good company—to retrieve her, or even because I had him shoot her date, which she probably wasn’t thrilled about. I’m sure both things contributed to her displeasure, but the real problem runs much deeper than those little road bumps.
I like her more than she likes me.
That’s the real problem.
That’s never happened to me before, so I’m not entirely sure how to navigate it.
She’s lovely as always and wearing the red dress she wore the night I first saw her. How appropriate. We’ve come full circle.
I should have just kidnapped her that night and been done with it.
Serves me right for trying to do things the right way.
Well, sort of.
Hallie’s sulking terribly when Arson hauls her in. She doesn’t even speak to me. This time she doesn’t seem surprised that Marie is here, but since Arson picked her up for me, I imagine she has figured out that I sent him, and any illusion of safety she had from me was just that: an illusion.
Ignoring both of us as I hand Arson his payment envelope and he responds with a cursory, “Pleasure doing business with you,” she walks over to Marie’s bed and sinks down next to it so she can hug her cat.
“I’ll let you know if I need anything else,” I tell Arson, and then he leaves.
Hallie sits on the floor with her legs curled behind her and Marie curled up on her lap. Chef Ryan is gone and Hollis isn’t here, so it’s just us and the silence.