Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
After checking my pulse and noticing it is dangerously high, I veer toward the suite’s kitchen for a glass of water. Dehydration doesn’t excuse all my symptoms, but alleviating it could reduce some of them.
I startle out of my skin when my stumble through the living room is met with a manly voice. “How are you feeling, Nikita?”
It takes me a few seconds to remember the name of the blond gent in front of me. That’s how woozy my head is.
“Riccardo…” I lower my voice from ear-piercing before repeating, “I… ah…”
His smirk reminds me of how drunk I am. I didn’t find it attractive earlier. “You forgot my name.”
“No. Not at all. I just…” I wish I weren’t so honest when drunk. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all good. It proves the second dose is working better than the first. I was starting to worry that I’d have to improv.”
He rubs his hands together but makes no attempts to leave, lumping the task onto me. “I’m not feeling the best, and Zoya will probably be gone awhile, so…” I nudge my head to the door, soundlessly giving him his marching orders.
He can’t take a hint.
After his teeth catch his lower lip, he glides his hooded eyes down my body. “I usually hate when the party loses steam early, but I’m glad it’s just us this time around.” When he steps closer, exposing the lusty glint his perusal of my body caused his eyes, the vomit I forced down earlier burns my throat. “Gives us plenty of time to—”
“Play Scrabble?”
He laughs like I’m joking.
I’m not.
That is the only game we will ever play.
I thought he was a good match for Zoya. That means he is the opposite of what I am seeking. She likes them wild and dangerous. I usually only ever look for the safe option.
Well, until Maksim entered my life.
“I think you should go.”
As I walk to the door, disgustingly stumbling, Riccardo replies, “I’d rather stay.”
“I don’t care what you want. I asked you to leave, so leave.” I sound rude, but I don’t care. I’m unwell, and he’s acting like a dick.
After yanking open the door, I crank my neck back to Riccardo. He hasn’t budged an inch, and his threatening snarl exposes he has no intention of going anywhere.
“I wouldn’t test me. I know where every artery in your body is and which are vital.”
I assume his whitening cheeks are from the honesty in my statement, but I learn otherwise when a voice I immediately recognize rumbles over my shoulder. “She asked you to leave.” After returning my stare long enough to convince me he feels my gratitude, Maksim shifts his narrowed eyes to a brute of a man on his left. “Get him the fuck out of here.”
“I’m going,” Riccardo assures, holding his hands in the air in defeat.
The brute doesn’t listen. He grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him out of the suite fast enough that a knife similar to the one he used to slice limes earlier today falls out of the back of his jeans.
“Oh my god.”
I feel even more sick now—incredibly ill.
“Was he…? Did he come here to…?” As my stupidity steamrolls me into a blubbering, teary mess, the chaos I almost introduced into my best friend’s life smacks into me. “I brought him into her life. Despite your security officers’ warnings, I told him to come back. I-I introduced him to my best friend.”
Maksim steadies my swaying movements by gripping the tops of my arms before staring at me with stern yet worried eyes. “Did he hurt you?”
I shake my head so fast that I almost vomit. “No. I thought he-he’d be a good match for Zoya. I-I tried to set them up. What if he had hurt her like… like… like… What if he’d…?”
Bile races up my esophagus between my stammered words. I try to swallow it down, but several gulps offer little relief. I’m going to be sick, and since Maksim’s grip on my arms is too firm to dislodge, it lands on his shoes.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Iswear to God, if you’re not juggling a gallon of coffee, you’re not welcome.”
I usually love Zoya’s girlie giggles, but this morning, they represent a knife being stabbed into my ears on repeat. I’m hungover, dehydrated, and having a hard time remembering a single thing that occurred after she tricked me out of our suite.
“You won, right? That wasn’t a dream.”
When my question is answered with silence, I carefully crack open my eyes, blink to lubricate them, and then move them in the direction Zoya’s voice projected from. She’s arrived with gifts, a gigantic mug of coffee, and a wholegrain muffin, but instead of seeking the praise she usually demands when she brings treats, her focus is on the far corner of the room.