Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I grip my hands together as though in prayer, begging silently for Damian and Sparky to be okay. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back in the car and drive away, if he doesn’t emerge, like he told me to.
I can’t leave him.
Bizarre instincts rise in me, out-of-place notions like drawing his lust out of him with clumsy lover’s hands and then guiding it to my sex, sitting down, feeling him drive hotly up between my thighs and then empty himself, oh, God, empty every last drop deep into my womb so that even if something happens to him, I have a piece of him, my man, my savior.
I shake my head.
Adrenalin and fear and all that messy stuff is making me crazy, that’s all.
It’s been one hell of a night.
That’s all, I try to tell myself.
But then do I really believe that tomorrow I’m going to wake up and happily leave Damian to live his life without me?
“Come on, come on,” I whisper, gripping onto the cold edge of the van and staring hard at the threshold.
Finally, Damian steps out, ducking his head, a white sausage dog cradled in one arm and his other hand gripping a shining silver knuckle-duster, catching the electric light of the parking lot as he moves. The sausage dog has gray and black patches dotted here and there, and he’s shivering as Damian passes by me, nodding toward his dark colored sedan.
“Come on, Dakota,” he says. He shakes his hand, dislodging the knuckle-duster and letting it clatter on the concrete. Seeing me looking, he grunts, “It wasn’t mine. I might be a hitman, but I’m not a thief. Come on.”
I snap out of a waking dream and chase after him, climbing into the passenger side and silently taking Sparky when Damian thrusts him at me.
“Good boy,” I whisper, moving my hands over his warm fur. “It’s okay. Good boy. You’re a good little boy, aren’t you?”
As Damian backs the car out, Sparky hops onto his hind legs and places his forepaws on my chest, stretching out his sausage body so that he can lick at my face.
Damian glances over, his lips twitching in a near-smile. “I think he likes you.”
“I’m so glad he’s safe,” I whisper.
I’m so glad you’re safe, I want to say, but I focus on Sparky instead, rubbing his body up and down and letting him kiss my face as much as he wants.
Damian drives down the road, picking up speed but staying within the speeding limit, letting out a shaky breath after a few minutes of driving.
“Fucking hell, if they’d hurt him …”
“It’s okay, Damian. Look. He’s fine.”
He reaches across and tickles him behind the ear, which I just so happen to be tickling, too.
Our fingers touch and electricity sizzles up my arm, swarms into my body, dances around, and sets off a series of blinding fireworks. He keeps his hand there for a moment, his eyes searing into me, but not like the guards’ would.
This is a good searing, a wonderful burning.
He’s scorching me up from the inside.
“Did you call that guy a pig fucker?” Damian growls a moment later, withdrawing his hand and chuckling grimly.
“Yeah, it’s just what came to me,” I laugh shakily as my body dumps all the pent-up tension.
“Well, it worked,” Damian says.
“Are they …”
“No, they’re alive,” Damian murmurs. “But they’re gonna be in the hospital for a while.”
I let my head fall back on the headrest as Sparky clambers atop me, paws resting on my shoulders like we’re hugging.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
“Honestly? I don’t—”
His words are cut off by the ringing of his cellphone.
“I bet I know who that is,” he snarls, taking it out of his pocket.
Chapter Seven
Damian
“Are you there, Damian?” Andrei says, his voice sharp and not as heavily accented as his brother’s.
I feel Dakota watching me curiously, her hands buried in Sparky’s fur as she stares. After a moment of hesitation – she’s in this now – I put the phone on speaker and lay it on the dashboard.
“I’m here,” I tell him.
“Good, that is good,” he murmurs.
I keep driving, keeping a steady pace, eyes flitting between the road and the rearview as I guide us toward the city. Soon it’ll be time to go west, but things have changed, and I need to make a pickup. A small voice whispers again to take Dakota to safety, but the thought of leaving her nearly turns me into a savage.
“I should thank you,” Andrei says a moment later.
I say nothing. In my experience, it’s weak men who feel the need to fill the silence with their words, as though by talking they can wish their realities into changing.
I drive. I wait.
I fight the urge to place my hand on Dakota’s face to feel the heat of her cheeks, the life essence of her.