Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
I freeze in his arms, then suddenly, insanely, want to lean against him for comfort, wishing for him to wrap his arms around me and hold me close.
“I’m only telling you this so you understand. You’re staying with me. Until I figure this out, you don’t leave my apartment.”
“People will notice. Joan, my neighbor. My employer.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he grunts. “I can handle all that, but you need to be obedient now.”
My skin tingles. No, no. This is wrong, but when he says obedient, his voice gets husky, just like my fantasies. It’s probably not husky, per se. It’s deeper and more angry, but at least he didn’t hurt Mom unless he’s lying.
“I need answers,” I say, pushing past the strange and inappropriate feelings. “Who took Mom? What does Dad’s wallet mean? Is she…” I swallow. “Going to be okay?”
“You’ll get your answers.” His hands are still on my wrists, but it doesn’t feel like he’s pinning me there now. It’s more like he’s holding me, and I’m staying in this position purposefully.
I pull my hands away, then almost push against his chest. “I’m fine.”
“Not going to pounce again?” he says with a smirk.
It’s the smirk I remember, the one I was sure he aimed my way when picking up Mom. I turn from him. I can’t look, can’t let him play with my mind. If he figures out I’ve got a crush on him—because that’s all it can ever be—he might use it against me.
“Where. Is. My. Mom? What. Is. Dad’s. Wallet?”
He sighs. “You’re a persistent girl, aren’t you?”
“I’m not a girl,” I say, spinning on him. “I was working two jobs at fifteen. If you think you can bully me, manipulate me, or anything me, you’re shit out of luck!”
He chuckles like I’m here to amuse him. There’s a tiny part of me that wants to laugh, too, and a warped feeling of pride for making him laugh. “Okay, Lena. I get it. Does it make you feel immature if I call you a girl?”
“I think it’s immature for you to have such a big smirk on your face.”
“But you are, Lena, a very persistent girl—”
“Can it. I’m twenty-one.”
“I know you’re not literally a girl,” he says, with that easy smirk, “but maybe it’s worth it to see you get worked up.”
I glare at him. “Seriously, this isn’t funny.”
His smirk falters. He raises his hands. “You’re right.”
“Why are you laughing, then?” I ask, the sudden anger still pulsing in me. Why do I care so much if he refers to me as a girl or thinks of me as a kid? He must be forty now, or at least almost. To him, maybe that’s all I am.
“Just…” His eyes narrow like the fierceness is returning. “You, Lena. You’re fiery as hell.”
I don’t know what to make of that, especially now that he’s back to his glaring routine. Maybe he’s going to do bad things to get the fieriness out of me. Maybe some twisted part of me wants that to a point.
“Just give me some answers. I deserve that. You don’t have to sing me a song, but just let me quickly ask you some questions.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“But I deserve—”
“Right this second…” Suddenly, he’s directly in front of me, looming. “They could be torturing your mom. How would you think of me, Lena, if I let her die?”
He’s got his hands on me again. My skin shivers temptingly, wrongly. He grabs my hips through my clothes, holding tight, staring at me with that blue fire in his eyes. Why does he care how I think of him?
“I’m taking you upstairs,” he groans, taking my wrist and pulling me toward the door. Fine, I walk with him, not giving him a chance to drag me off my feet, but would he if I didn’t go willingly? “You’re going to go upstairs and hang out on the couch with my dog.”
“You trust me not to run?” I ask as he opens the door, showing what looks like a small elevator.
He gently pushes me ahead of him, then walks in after me. It’s narrow and tall as if it was built just for him. I’m pushed up against him again, but this time, it’s my body pressed against his back. The elevator begins to go upward smoothly. We ride it for around thirty seconds before I lose my patience.
“Did you hear me?” I snap. He does that annoying laugh again. It’s like he’s so fascinated I can stand up to him. I say, “I’m not even sure you’re telling the truth about Mom. Maybe this is a lie to get me up here so you can put a bullet in my head.”
He turns, making the elevator unsteady. Now, I can feel something hard against my upper belly. He’s so much taller than me. That’s where his manhood would press if he were hard. Why would he be hard right now?