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)
Chapter Three
Butcher
I kept my gaze on the fucker with his two buddies, the one who slapped Poppy’s ass. I’d been stewing about it ever since I saw him touch her. I wasn’t about men fucking with women, but the rage I felt toward that prick who touched Poppy was a lot more personal.
It was wild and dangerous. It was violent.
That’s how I knew she was different, that she was special to me. I didn’t need to hear her voice or know her personally to understand how I felt. I always went with my instincts, and they told me she was mine whether she knew it or not.
I knew I wouldn’t let it go. I couldn’t.
He needed his fucking teeth knocked in, and it was only because I’d gotten a call right after she was touched that I didn’t go over there and break his bones. And after the call ended, I told myself to wait, that if I made a scene in front of everyone, then someone would call the cops and I’d have to deal with that bullshit.
No, I’d wait. And when he left, when I got him alone, I’d teach him a fucking lesson.
It was getting to be closing time, and I was antsy, on edge. I was waiting until he left, would follow him out, would give him enough pain he wouldn’t forget why he was getting the shit kicked out of him. He’d sure as fuck think twice about putting his hands on a woman again; that was for damn sure.
Poppy had gone into the backroom five minutes ago, and as I leaned back in the wooden chair, the piece of furniture creaking from my weight, one of my arms resting on the table, and my leg bouncing as I grew impatient, all I could think about is all the filthy fucking things I wanted to do to her.
I thought about following her, seeing where she lived. I thought about getting her alone, looking through her window, seeing how she lived. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about what I’d do to her if I got her alone, all the dirty, obscene tings I could show her, let her experience for the first time.
Or maybe I’d just stand back and watch her, memorize her movements, how she did things.
I’d never had this kind of pull toward someone, a draw that had me so consumed I honestly felt like I was losing my fucking mind. And I’d only just met her. Hell, I hadn’t even actually met her. I’d only just seen her.
She came out of the backroom, her purse slung over her shoulder, her expression telling me she was trying her damnedest not to look at me. I was making it perfectly clear what I wanted, wasn’t even trying to hide the fact. I stared at her, saw she noticed me watching her. Hell, Richie kept glancing at me hesitantly as if he thought I’d fucking take her right up against the bar or some shit. She lifted her hand and said bye to him as he wiped down the bar counter.
I stood, intent to go out there, follow her, and tell her that I thought we should see more of each other... demand it. Hell, I’d never even been on a fucking date before, not officially, because I’d never wanted a female the way I wanted Poppy.
It was this powerful, consuming, soul-sucking need that maybe could have been explained as wanting to fuck her senseless. But I knew better. I knew myself better than that.
I wanted to take her out, buy her things, dress her up real nice. I wanted everyone to know she was mine as I wrapped my hand around her waist and pulled her in close. But just as I was about to take that first step to follow her, I saw the asshole who’d touched her zero his focus on her. He said something to his buddies before he made his way toward the door she’d just left out of.
I narrowed my eyes, curled my hands into fists at my sides, and knew shit was about to get bloody. I anticipated it like a drug addict salivated for that first hit after being dry.
I looked over at Richie and saw he watched me, could see on his expression he knew what was about to happen. But Richie knew better than to intervene. He knew to look the other way. He knew that, because his life depended on it.
So I found myself walking toward the front door, gripping the handle, and pulling it open.
Poppy
I was no more than a few seconds outside when I heard the front door open and close behind me. I looked over my shoulder, honestly expecting to see Butcher after how hard he was watching me inside, but the man staring at me was the drunkard with the grabby hands.