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)
The man started rambling off in that other language, and Cameron turned and barked out a string of words. The other man paled, his back going straight, his eyes narrowing. Cameron looked at me again.
“I’m just going to walk around, see the art.”
Cameron looked me in the eyes, his gaze penetrating, intense. He finally nodded, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think he wouldn’t know where I was.
I walked down one of the hallways, the guests thinning as they congregated with each other at the front of the house. The art was colorful, erratic even. I kept moving, looking at each piece. There was a set of open double doors to my right, and I moved closer.
I didn’t want to be nosy, but the lights were on, and I saw even more art. Surely if no one was allowed in here, the doors would be shut.
I stepped inside, the lights dimmer than I’d originally thought, the corners hidden with shadows, making the art seem ominous. I walked around, the scent of old leather, roses, and something darker filling the air.
The sound of wood creaking behind me had me looking over my shoulder. A man stepped inside, his focus on his cell, his face cast in a scowl. He said something low, too low for me to understand.
He shoved his cell in his pocket, went to turn around, but then spotted me. For a second he just stared at me, his dark eyes seeming like endless pools. It gave me the chills, made me frightened. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to be in the same room with him.
“You like the art?” His voice was thickly accented.
I nodded, not sure why I felt so nervous, so off-kilter. I wanted to go back to Cameron. I went closer to the door, but he shifted, blocking me.
His smile was so dark it actually made me uncomfortable. Warning bells started going off, red flags flashing in front of my eyes. I needed to get to people, to the crowd. There I’d feel safe, just like at the club, being swallowed whole by the sea of bodies.
“Are you here alone?”
I shook my head, my throat far too tight to manage any words. Force them out. Show strength. “I’m not alone.” The need to run, to lash out, to fight ran strong within me. I was pressed to the wall, my hands flat on it, the sweat starting to form on my palms. He moved closer, the cloying, suffocating sensation of his cologne making me sick.
I tried to look around his shoulder, but he’d backed me into a corner, the people at this event farther away than I would have liked. I was blocked by his grossly large muscles.
He breathed out hard, the scent of his liquor-laced breath wafting over me, the need to gag strong. My stomach was twisted, turned around. I was in flight or fight, my mind screaming to be rational, that I couldn’t stop this man if I wanted to. But my body wanted to lash out, to survive.
“So small, fragile.” He looked into my eyes, his smile grotesque. “I’ll have fun breaking you, girl.”
I didn’t know what came over me, but this surge of power, of strength took hold, making me feel—realize—I was not this asshole’s victim. I brought my knee up, rammed it right between his thighs, and felt really damn good when he made this pained sound.
“You fucking cunt,” he gritted out. He was slightly hunched, and I knew he wanted to grab himself, relieve the pain I’d caused, but instead he raised his hand. I knew he’d hit back, knew he wouldn’t stand for me attacking him. I wanted to move, tried to in that instant, but his big body blocked me.
I tensed, bracing for the hit, but before it came I saw a shadow cross over his body. Then a hand grabbed his arm, pulling back with a force that had him stumbling.
The big brute cursed in Russian. Although I didn’t see, couldn’t see who held him away from me at this angle, I knew it was Cameron.
I felt it in the air, this charge, this intensity that stole my breath, made me weak, had me shaking. And then the Russian was jerked back and I saw Cameron. He looked furious, enraged, his eyes cold, dead.
I shifted, seeing the man’s face now, the fear that covered it.
“Damien, take her to the car,” Cameron said, never moving his gaze off the man he still held. I glanced to the side, seeing Damien, not sure where he’d come from.
“Let’s go,” Damien said, grabbing my arm, steering me out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door.
The limo was already waiting at the bottom of the steps. Damien opened the back door for me and gently pushed me inside. I don’t know how long I sat there, my palms damp, my heart in my throat.