Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“What are you—”
His mouth crashed into mine, and it was the very last thing I expected from Killian.
I didn’t know what to do so I stood stiffly in his arms as his mouth softened on mine, arms drawing me in tighter to him, hand sliding up my back to the nape of my neck.
“Relax,” he murmured against my mouth.
His lips roamed over mine, experienced, warm, soothing, and at the same time, possessive. I sagged into him and let him guide me as my mouth opened to his urging, and then his tongue was in my mouth. Tasting. Dueling with mine.
A moan escaped my throat.
He controlled everything about the kiss. A kiss that made my body tremble and awakened something strange and wonderful between my legs.
God, it was incredible. It was my first kiss, and I had nothing to compare it with. But it was life changing because every kiss from now on would be compared to Killian’s.
I felt his hardness against my abdomen throbbing against his jeans and I trembled with nervousness.
He abruptly pulled back, but didn’t release me. “Not everyone is good, Savvy. Remember that.”
I nodded.
He frowned. “I’m serious, Savvy. You’re too fuckin’ trusting. You think everyone has good in them, but they don’t.”
“I know.”
“I’m glad you’re leaving town.”
I stiffened raising my chin. “Why?”
“Because if you come near me again, next time I won’t let you go.”
He released me and I stumbled back. Our eyes locked for several seconds before I turned and ran down the driveway to the road, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder to see if he was still there.
If he still watched me.
But I didn’t. I never looked back.
There was no denying anymore that I liked him. A lot.
And I was leaving.
He was right. It was probably a good thing.
I walked to Mars’s house where the reception was because the trailer was too small. I fake smiled at people I barely knew who offered their condolences, while keeping the tears back.
When I should’ve been thinking about my mom, I thought about Killian and all the anger inside him. It invaded. And it haunted.
Maybe even hunted him.
What I hoped was that it never caught up to him. That it didn’t destroy whoever he was beneath all that anger.
After the reception, the social worker drove me to the old two-bedroom trailer to pack my stuff, not that I had much.
As I approached the door, I saw a pink ceramic pot sitting on the top of the slanted rotting stair.
I crouched and picked it up.
The pot had a thin crack in it but was nice. What was in it… well, the orchid had one long crooked stem and two droopy leaves.
Nothing else. No flower.
There was a folded piece of paper stuck in the pebbles on top. I plucked it out, put the plant down and opened it.
That was it. Just his signature, written neatly and perfectly legible.
Tucking the note into my pocket, I carried the pot to the car and set it on the floor.
Then I ran back inside the trailer and packed what little clothes I had.
On the step of the trailer where the orchid had been, I placed a note to Killian. I knew he’d probably never see it and it was why I’d been able to say what I did in my reply. I put a rock on top of the paper, the white edges fluttering in the cool wind.
As we drove away, I looked over my shoulder at the rock on the steps with the white paper. A tear slipped down my cheek at the same time as the rain began to fall.
Present Day
God, this was such a bad idea. But I was desperate. Six months out of a job, reputation ruined and my savings dwindling, my options were limited.
I clutched the phony permit Trevor, the guy across the hall, made me to get past concert security. Ironic the last time I did something illegal was eleven years ago when I went to the underground fight he had warned me not to go to. Now I was sneaking backstage to his concert to ask him a favor.
He’s only a man, I repeated for the hundredth time. He wasn’t Zeus. He was “polite.” At least that was what I’d read on social media. But most of the articles on the rock band Tear Asunder were on the lead singer, Sculpt, and Crisis, one of the guitarists.
I approached the huge bulky guy wearing black cargo pants and a T-shirt who stood in front of the door. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, and his tree trunk thighs were braced, but what I didn’t like was the fierce scowl on his face.
“You have a pass?” he asked, arms dropping to his side.
I offered a shaky smile and held out my pass. “Uh, yeah.” Shit, I needed to sound more confident. “First day on the job. I’m a little overwhelmed.”