Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Stop,” I said loudly enough I was sure Damien heard. “Pull in here.” He didn’t question me, just pulled into the driveway and found a parking spot. For a second I stared at the run-down motel, watching the few people loiter on the top balcony, their cigarettes hanging from their mouths, their hair and clothes greasy.
I was sure drug deals, even some prostitution went on here. Before I could get out, Damien was climbing out of the car and opening the back door for me.
I was thankful he kept his mouth shut, didn’t hassle me on the shithole place I wanted to be dropped off at. But the little I had was at the apartment, a place I didn’t want to go back to, but would probably end up having to in order to at least survive until the next day.
“This is for you.” Damien handed me a small black bag. “Inside you’ll find a few changes of clothes from your stay at the house, some money to allow you to leave the city, and this.” He gave me a small slip of paper. A number was written on it, and I wondered if it was Cameron’s or Damien’s. I didn’t ask.
“You’re free, safe, and have enough money in that bag to start a life someplace else, someplace less shitty.” I stared at the number, listening to Damien’s voice, thinking about Cameron.
“He didn’t want to say good-bye to me,” I found myself saying, not sure if I was asking myself or Damien.
“He had business to attend to.”
I glanced up at Damien then. I knew I was just a payment, a debt owed because Cameron had helped me, solved my problem. It was what it was, although I hated the fact I couldn’t see him. I fucking hated the fact I found myself falling for my dark protector, the man willing to kill to make sure I was okay.
“If you’re in trouble, you call that number and someone will be there.”
Instead of saying something, making a fool out of myself, I just nodded.
I took a step back, watched Damien get into the car, and as he drove away I couldn’t help but take in a stuttering breath. I realized in that moment that before Cameron I’d just been surviving. With him I’d been living.
But he’d made his point clear, stayed away, took from me what he wanted, and because of my need to survive, to be a fighter, I turned away from the disappearing car, faced the motel, and tried to think about the future.
I wouldn’t lie…it looked pretty damn dark.
Chapter
Twenty
ONE WEEK LATER
I wanted to think that the dark SUVs I’d seen were Cameron looking out for me, hiding inside, watching me, unable to just ignore what we’d shared for those fourteen days. But I wasn’t such a fool to think I meant more than a warm hole to relieve himself in.
No, it was more than that. I was his, only his. He made that clear at the party, when he touched me, stroked me from the inside out. He told me as much when he whispered filthy words in my ear as he thrust deep and hard into my body.
I’d found myself back at the shitty apartment, packing up what little I had owned. There wasn’t much I wanted to take with me, nothing of great value or importance.
But for this last week I’d been trying to push forward, to forget about everything and anything that had to do with Cameron, with my stay in his home. I couldn’t shake him, couldn’t get rid of the image of him, of the memory of how he felt when he touched me.
I shoved the last piece of clothing into my backpack, stepped back, and stared at it on my bed. The small black bag Damien had given me before he left sat beside it, the money and phone number within it.
Truth was I’d hoped Cameron would come for me, would demand I go with him, stay with him…never leave. And I wouldn’t have.
I wanted him, desired that free feeling I had, that moment of bliss where I wasn’t wondering where I was going, where I was headed. Truth was I didn’t know where I was going, not even now, not even with a bag full of money and an empty road ahead of me.
I heard the honk of the taxi I’d called downstairs waiting for me, and I grabbed my things and headed outside. But as I stood there, staring at the idling yellow car, the rust around the edges dark, almost like blood under the setting sun, the worry and pain claimed me.
I rubbed at my chest, the idea of leaving, of not telling Cameron what I wanted, who I wanted, wearing down on me so heavily I couldn’t even breathe.
“You coming or what?” the taxi driver shouted out the open passenger window. I took a step toward it, but froze, finding myself shaking my head. I couldn’t leave without at least telling Cameron how I felt, how he made me feel.