Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“You gotta do it,” he insists, waving his finger around, making sure I know just how serious he is.
I can’t help but roll my eyes as I lift my hand to his. “Fine,” I groan, curling my pinkie around his. “I pinkie promise that I will not tell a soul that you spend your nights sloshing around in piles of other men’s sweat and blood while beating up poor, defenseless kids in an underground ring.”
He gives me a blank stare. “First off, he was no kid. He might have looked twelve, but that asshole had to be at least nineteen. And second,” he says as he twists his hand around mine to press our thumbs together as if to lock in the promise. “Despite your attempt to make it sound like I actually enjoyed playing in that bloodbath, thank you. That was single-handedly the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done, but I appreciate you keeping this to yourself.”
A smile pulls at the corners of my lips, and I nod my head. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of breaking the sanctity of a pinkie promise,” I tell him as our hands fall apart, my fingers suddenly so cold and empty. “Are you satisfied?” I ask as he gets back to driving.
His gaze darkens and an intense hunger pulses through his eyes. “Not even close,” he tells me, that thick tone sending hot jolts of electricity pulsing right through my body.
I suck in a gasp but he hits the gas again, shifting his gaze back to the road and turning the corner. I realize we’re nearly at Micky’s, and I wonder how the time has possibly gone so fast. “So,” I say, swallowing as the heat in the truck suddenly puts me in a choke hold, “if you want to be a fighter, why don’t you stop hockey and fight professionally? I mean, I can’t pretend to know what it takes to go pro, but from what I saw, you’re pretty good.”
“Just pretty good?” he questions, glancing at me as he pulls up onto the curb outside Micky’s. I roll my eyes and give him a blank stare before he finally takes pity on me and answers the question. “The plan is to go pro eventually, but it’s complicated.”
Something hardens in Xander’s gaze, and I cringe, hoping I haven’t brought up something that’s a sore spot for him. “Sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
He lets out another one of those intoxicating laughs. “I get the feeling you can’t help it.”
“No, I guess I can’t,” I tell him honestly, admitting to my nosey habits. “But for the record, I know complicated. Not the same brand of complicated as you, but complicated all the same.”
Xander nods as he considers my response, but then his eyes soften and something tells me his complicated life has been long forgotten. “When do I get to see you again, Charli?” he murmurs.
He holds my stare and my jaw drops just a little, trying to work out what to say, but not a damn word comes out. This is a dangerous game. This man has the ability to destroy me. I need to duck and run before I get sucked into the chasm with no way out.
I open the door and climb out onto the walkway before thinking better of it and turning around. How could I possibly leave without another word spoken between us? A wide smile cuts across my face as I lean back in through the open door and meet his intense stare. “I don’t know, Mr. Widow Maker. After what I saw tonight, you seem like more trouble than I can handle.”
He smirks back at me. “Says the girl who found herself in the Underground with a guy who wanted to fuck her in the back of his friend’s car?” he asks with a questioning, raised brow.
I shrug my shoulders as if not having a clue what he’s talking about. “Who, me? No. You must have me confused with one of the other damsels you’ve saved tonight,” I tell him. “Just how many were there?”
“Only one that counts,” he says with a wink.
Goddamn. This man.
Backing away before I do something I’m not ready for, I close the door and turn my back, a stupid grin stretched wide across my face. I dash up to the door of Micky’s and fumble with the keys like an idiot before finally getting myself inside.
How stupid could I be? Getting involved with a guy like that could only be bad news. Hell, he looks like he breaks hearts for sport. But shit, he’s such a smooth talker, knowing exactly what to say to make my heart race. I’m in real trouble with this one, and what’s worse, he doesn’t strike me as the type to back away slowly. No, he’s going to come in with the full force of a freight train.