Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Again, my stomach flips and my face heats up. Cautiously I slither down the stairs. I see bikers and a lot of women wearing almost nothing, but so far, no one sees me. Just a few more steps and I’ll bolt to the right and into the safest spot in this whole clubhouse: Amy’s kitchen.
I haven’t been here long, but what I’ve learned is no one, and I mean no one, messes with Amy or her kitchen. Which is funny because she’s my favorite person here so far. Well, that and this shy guy named Dewey. He’s been nice, asking if I’m okay. Other than them, no one else talks to me. I saw Blade, the president, once in passing. His vibe was not friendly. Actually, everyone is scary and rather rude.
Whatever, I’ll just grab us some food and maybe a bottle of something. Axel used to leave a bunch on his bar area, but yesterday a prospect came and took all the alcohol. Not like I’m a big drinker, but it does distract Gia enough to at least stop surfing the web and YouTube and constantly crying over a song. I hope they have vodka and not just whiskey and tequila. Gia seems to have fewer crying jags with vodka. Maybe I can snag some fresh-squeezed orange juice, but I only have two hands, so we get what we get and don’t get upset.
When I get to the darkened kitchen, I hesitate for a moment. I peer over at the living room and pool table area. It’s loud and crowded with bodies and smoke.
No Drogo. I take a breath. I need to stop looking for him and calling him that. He’s not the mythical warlord from TV; he’s a man whom I need to stay away from, I think. I haven’t seen him in days, which should make me relax and try to be positive that getting out of here is really gonna happen.
But I can’t stop thinking about him. “Just stay on task,” I whisper. Preparing to turn on the kitchen light, I wonder if that’s allowed. Every room in this house seems to be alive, and yet no one is anywhere near the kitchen. I wonder if Amy doesn’t allow anyone in when she’s not here.
Well, I’m starving. I’ll write her a polite thank-you note saying I grabbed us a little something to eat and then run back to Axel’s room. I wish I could go outside, but Axel said no, and that’s probably for the best. Look what happened last time I was outside? I don’t think I can handle seeing Ryder with another woman. In my fantasy, he’s all mine—grabbing my neck, bringing my mouth to his. Rough, intense, exciting. My heart speeds up and I’m slightly breathless as I blink at the large, dark kitchen. It smells like lemons and bleach, and for some reason that makes me move fast, though I try not to bruise my leg while stepping around the barstools and heading to the large stainless-steel refrigerator.
Maybe a sandwich would be the best choice, easy and fast. Jeez, this fridge is huge and packed with food. I’m scared to move anything in case it all tumbles out. So much meat and vegetables.
I grab the peanut butter and a couple of ginger ales, figuring that’s better than straight whiskey. Good grief, is there anything else I can take? I scan the dark kitchen in search of a banana, maybe some bread. Cheese and crackers would be perfect. This is stupid. I have to turn on the light at least for a minute. Otherwise, we’re stuck with raw meat or soda.
“You’re new.” The voice makes me drop the ginger ale as I melt back into the coolness of the refrigerator.
A man stands in the doorway. The light behind him conceals his face. All I see is his silhouette. He’s of medium build and wearing a suit. I don’t know if it’s the suit or that his energy is not good. Like, this person is mean, and I inch back farther into the refrigerator. He turns to look behind him as if he’s looking for someone, and I get a glimpse of his profile. He’s older than I thought, and nothing about him seems special besides the fact that he clearly doesn’t belong here.
“What’s your name, my little butterfly?”
His voice is soft and has an accent. Russian? Armenian? All I know is I need to stay away from him. I slide farther away.
He enters the kitchen and I look around the darkened room, wondering if I can bolt to the knives that Amy keeps on the island. I’ve never felt like this in my life, like I’m close to someone who is truly evil. I hear myself pant as he moves closer.
“Ahhh, you’re scared. Don’t be. I just want to see your face.” He almost purrs.