Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
I wonder if anybody who notices us walking past can guess I’m living in a cage.
I wonder how long it will take before I’m finally free—if that day ever comes.
9
ZEKE
This is so goddamn boring.
I have to keep telling myself how much worse things could be. I could be out there wondering where my next paycheck’s coming from. I could be stealing, or worse, in prison, all because I was trying to find a way to put food in my mouth at the end of the day.
When I look at it that way, sitting in this lecture hall, lurking around in the back like I’m not supposed to be here—which I’m not, really—is a pretty cushy gig. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Especially when I have to sit here behind Mia and watch her every move. Do I technically need to follow the way her fingers fly over her laptop keys? Do I have to notice every time she shifts her weight, every time she twirls a strand of hair around a finger as she’s listening to the instructor? Her father didn’t order me to trace the curves of her body with my eyes, either, but that’s exactly what I’m doing this morning. She’s so fucking tempting. Right in front of me, and I’m not allowed to touch. How much self-control is a man supposed to have?
It’s been ten days since we got here, ten of the longest days of my life. Only the constant reminder that her father is watching, paying attention to everything she does, keeps me centered. He might not be living with us, but he looms large.
I wish I could tell her how bad I felt about the money situation. I don’t think it’s fair any more than she does. I even considered taking money out of the ATM so she could have some cash to carry around, but I have no doubt her father would have me on the phone within an hour, demanding to know why she needed to take money out. For a guy with all his wealth, he’s pretty fucking stingy.
It’s all about control. That’s all he knows. Mia doesn’t understand him the way I do. He didn’t come from some wealthy family any more than she or I did. The Morelli family was low-level back when he was a kid, existing on the fringes of the more powerful players. Morelli’s old man had a talent for being in the right place at the right time and knowing how to make himself useful. In our world, being useful is right up there with being faithful. If you know how to contribute and can keep your mouth shut, you have it made.
Bruno followed in his father’s footsteps and capitalized on the foundation he put in place. Now he’s the big shot, the one controlling all the other families, thanks to his control of harbors up and down the coast. Not to mention his hold on too many shady businesses for me to keep track of. Prostitution, drugs, even trafficking. I know he has a hand in all those things—we don’t have to sit down and have a chat about it, but I do have ears. I’m observant.
And he won’t even let his daughter use her own bank card.
“It’s to keep her safe,” he told me when we were finalizing a few details before leaving for good. “This way, nobody can track her activity.” I was a split second away from asking if he’s really that worried about her. If he honestly thinks somebody would be that determined to get to her as a way of getting to him. It’s paranoia; it has to be.
But can I take that chance? She drives me out of my fucking mind, but I’m not a child. I know why she makes me crazy, and it’s not because she’s a brat or because she stomps around and pouts when she doesn’t get what she wants.
It’s because I can’t have her. Because I want her more than I want oxygen, and I know she wants me, but it can’t happen. I hate her because it’s easier than hating myself.
The sweet scent of her shampoo and the perfume she spritzed on this morning does things to me no woman has ever done with both hands and her mouth. I’m rock-hard, grateful there’s a desk covering my lap. There’s nothing for me to do but stare at her, imagining how she tastes. How I would make her come on my tongue while her long, slender fingers tangled in my hair. How she’d moan my name until her voice broke.
And then, I’d take her. I’d break her down with every stroke into her tight little pussy. I’d be her first, and I’d make her remember it always. No man would ever measure up after what I’d do to her. The thought of it makes me smile to myself, even though my straining cock is trapped in an almost brutally uncomfortable way.