Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
When I walk out, I’m greeted by the sight of not one bouquet of roses, but three.
And one very sour looking Dean.
“Are these from your boss?” he demands. The asshole has opened the card. He tosses it to me. It flutters to the floor at my feet.
I stoop to pick it up and read it.
Nico Tacone is asking me to dinner? After he just ejected me from his suite?
This day couldn’t get weirder.
“What did you do to make him send you roses?” Dean asks. When he takes a step closer, it feels menacing.
I don’t like the insinuation. “Nothing.”
Dean’s scoff is derisive. “Yeah, right. Did you have sex with him?” He grabs my arm. “You should be careful. Did you know he’s mafia?”
I twist to get out of his grip, but he closes his fingers tighter. “Ouch,” I protest. “Get off me.”
He steps even closer, leaning down so we’re nose to nose. “I think you’re real hot, Sondra,” he says. His breath smells like Doritos. “I’m sure Tacone does too.”
Again I try to pull away, but Dean holds me fast.
“Let go of me,” I snap.
“I love that you and Corey are cousins,” he says, backing me up against the wall. “It’s almost as good as doing twins.”
“You’re not going to do me, so get that idea out of your head.” My indignation is turning to panic now. I thought Dean was sleazy, but I didn’t think he was the kind of guy to force a girl. But clearly I got it wrong. Because any normal guy would’ve let me go when I asked him to.
His fingers squeeze with bruising strength around my arm. He reaches his other hand between my legs.
“Get. The fuck. Off me.” I’m genuinely struggling now, twisting to try to get out of his grasp, trying unsuccessfully to knee him in the nuts. He slams me against the wall.
A loud knock sounds on the door, and it provides just enough distraction for me to duck and wrench my arm out of his grasp. I run for the door like whoever is standing on the other side is my salvation.
“Sondra.”
I ignore Dean’s hiss and throw open the door, planning to run out under the protection of whoever is standing there.
I had no idea that person would be Nico Tacone.
I bump into him in my haste to step out and he catches me, brows dropping. He looks past me into the townhouse and his frown deepens.
“What’s going on? Are you upset?” He steps back to survey me and doesn’t miss the angry red marks on my arms.
That’s all it takes. I didn’t even say a word, but he goes marching into the townhouse and clocks Dean.
There’s a sickening crunch of bone as his nose breaks and he goes flying back, stumbling against the couch and slipping to the ground. Tacone follows him and picks him up by his shirt to deck him again.
“Okay!” I yell. “Stop.” I grab Tacone’s arm.
He pauses to look at me. He’s in his full designer suit, but he hasn’t broken a sweat. “Sondra, go wait in the car.” His voice is perfectly even, like meting out violent justice is all in a day’s work for him. Which it probably is.
Oh Jesus. He’s going to kill Dean.
I may be pissed off at what Dean did to me, but I already feel like we’re even. I mean, the guy has blood gushing from his nose and he’s on his ass.
“No.” I attempt to tug Tacone toward the door. “Let’s get that dinner. That sounded nice.”
He drops Dean to the floor and straightens to face me. “Who is this guy? Did he hurt you?”
I wince because I know the answer is going to cause more violence. “He’s my cousin’s boyfriend. Please—can we go?”
Tacone reaches in his jacket. I know what he’s going to pull out before he produces the gun because I’ve had the thing pointed at my head. He leans over and presses the barrel against Dean’s temple. “Get out of here.”
As terrified as Dean appears, he still sputters, “This is my place.”
Tacone pistol whips him. “I said, get out of here. Get your shit. Move out. If you ever come near Sondra or her cousin again, I’ll fucking kill you. Do you understand me?”
Dean doesn’t answer fast enough and Tacone pulls the gun back to pistol whip him again. “Okay! I’m leaving!” He puts his hands in the air and slowly crawls to his feet.
Tacone doesn’t take his eyes off Dean, but he murmurs to me, “Is that your bag, baby?”
It takes me a second to understand, but then I realize he’s talking about my open suitcase beside the couch.
“Yeah. Yes, it is.”
Tacone puts the gun back in the holster under his arm and strides over to the suitcase, closing it with a decisive zip.
I’m trembling like a leaf, possibly going into as much shock as I experienced the first time I saw Tacone’s gun.