Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Getting away, moving to the other side of town, and cutting all ties with Eric was the best decision I ever made. Still, it drained me physically, emotionally, and financially—especially financially. Before I was strong enough to leave him, he drained my bank account and maxed out my credit cards. I was already behind in rent, which meant the only way I could get a new place was with a huge deposit.
“The truth?” He nods. “There’s somebody I would rather not see again. Ever.”
For one second, I’m afraid he’s going to ask for details. He strikes me as the kind of guy who would get off on making a girl relive the memories she would give anything to forget. So long as he could be in control.
Which is why it surprises me when he only nods again. “As long as you’re not some undercover vice cop, we’re okay.”
“Oh, god, no. No, it’s not like that. Believe me.” I can’t help but laugh, which doesn’t seem like the right reaction, but it’s all I can do. Me, a cop? “I mean, if I was, wouldn’t they set me up with a whole online persona to make me look legit?”
He cracks a tiny smile, and I can only think how handsome he’d be if he smiled more instead of looking so serious and stern all the time. “I believe you. And I think you’re going to make me a lot of money tonight.”
At least one of us is happy about that.
2
Lucian
She’s not what I expected. Nowhere close. Alexei described a weak, shaky, timid girl. Hot, sure, or else she wouldn’t be here. When it comes to her face and tight-but-curvy body, she’s definitely all he described and more.
It’s her spirit that interests me. That little spark in her. Most girls come in here with their shoulders hunched, looking at me from under fake eyelashes, afraid to do more than whisper their name and bob their head up and down when I ask if they’re ready to work. Others are simply coked out of their mind, so addicted to drugs that they’ll do anything.
This one, though? She looks me right in the eye, stands straight and tall. There’s a refreshing sort of honesty about her, but she doesn’t overshare. Like that bit about having somebody she doesn’t want to see anymore—probably a shady ex-boyfriend or a family member she’s running away from.
But she didn’t blubber about it. She didn’t beg for me to understand her situation, to take mercy and let her out of a contract she didn’t thoroughly read. She’s direct, to the point, but there’s still a thread of vulnerability running through her words. It’s enough to get me a little hard, honestly.
Well, it’s not the first time I’ve done business with a girl in a tough situation. That’s how most of my employees end up on my doorstep in the first place.
“Here.” I pick up the drink I fixed for her and hand it over. “Whiskey rocks. It’ll calm your nerves.”
Something moves across her face. She doesn’t want to admit she’s nervous and resents my guessing. “Just take it. Trust me.” She extends her hand to accept the drink, and our fingers brush against each other. Her skin is as soft as it looks.
All that discovery does is remind me what’s waiting for her in the basement, and something unpleasant stirs north of my dick. I have to look away, finding my own drink and downing what’s left. The whiskey sends its usual warmth through me, but it’s not enough to loosen my discomfort.
She’s perfect, but she won’t be for much longer. My hand tightens around the tumbler.
“Would you mind if I have a seat?” She lifts one of her feet, rolling it in a circle. “I’m not used to standing around in shoes like this for so long.”
Her frankness teases another smile from me. “Of course. I don’t know how women walk in them.”
“We do it because men like them.” She sits in one of the chairs in front of the desk, crossing her ankles. Demure and ladylike. Again, not like the girls who usually walk through my door. Normally, I don’t care much either way—in fact, there’s not much profit to be made from modesty.
It’s just because she’s different. That’s all. She’s not special. She’s just unusual.
I check my watch. He’ll be here soon. I should send her downstairs, but something inside me won’t let me do it. Not yet. I don’t know why.
She must feel the weight of my stare because her fair cheeks go pink an instant before she turns her head, letting a curtain of thick, shining blond hair hide her reaction. But it’s too late. I’ve already seen her blush, and it’s like she set a bomb off in my head.
Letting her go through with this is completely fucked up.