Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Wanting her that way makes me no better than the men I don’t hesitate to kill while working. I wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in a man’s head if I walked into his house for a job and saw him doing exactly what I had just done. I didn’t touch her, and maybe that’s a win.
Maybe tomorrow that will be enough to ease my mind for what I’ve already done to her, but I doubt it.
As I hit the bag over and over and over, my knuckles, wrists, and arms grow sore from the impact, but my cock never flags. He has a one-track mind and his attention is stuck on Raya.
I try to refocus that anger. I try to find a way to blame her rather than blaming myself.
I remember the way she looked shocked at the different items in the shower, as if it’s unheard of for a man to have separate bottles of shampoo and conditioner, as if it’s unheard of for a man to take care of himself.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Maybe she was just judging me once again, the same way she did at the surf shop.
Her quickness to judge is what got her into this situation in the first place. The assumptions she made about me are what landed her with a collar around her neck and a chain connecting her to the floor, preventing her from leaving. I don’t see that ending anytime soon.
Those assumptions from her seem ingrained, something she learned, something she was taught in life. And now that I know who she actually is, it makes a little more sense.
People in the political world are quick to judge, quick to assess, quick to assume.
Raya is no different from her father, who was no different from any other man that came before him.
They’re manipulative and abusive and expectant. They may work hard for the power they have, but once they get a taste of it, they’ll never relinquish it willingly.
I smile, thinking about the fight that Raya has in her, about what it means for the days to come.
It makes the situation in my sweats even worse. My cock throbs with the potential. Sweat rolls down my temples, cresting my jawline and dripping down my neck before disappearing into the fabric of my t-shirt.
I don’t know how long I stand there, strike after strike, hitting the punching bag.
By the time I step back, winded, my clothes are soaked.
It didn’t work, getting my energy out this way.
I know what will work, but I do my best to try and find an alternative solution. I don’t want to be that man. I’ve never been that man before, but there’s just something about that woman that is driving me insane.
The idea of slitting her throat and dumping her body for her senator dad to find should be easy. It’s not like it would be the first time I had to dispose of a corpse, but it’s the sight of her eyes looking up at me lifelessly as I imagine it that makes me automatically reject the idea.
Plus, she’s no fun if she’s dead.
I couldn’t taunt her.
I couldn’t torture her.
I couldn’t manipulate her until she bends to my will if I kill her.
I’m not completely rejecting the idea of that being the ending of what happens to her, but it’s not something I plan to do anytime soon.
So long as she continues to obey.
So long as she gives me what I want.
I can let her live.
I don’t have any grandiose ideas that I won’t eventually be found. Her father is going to be the president of the United States. That means he has to have multiple agencies out looking for her.
It’s only been a handful of hours since her disappearance and already the story is being covered by nationwide news outlets. I’m gonna get the most out of this fuckup that I can, because taking Raya could very well be the biggest mistake of my life.
Why not enjoy it?
The biggest mistake, hell, she could be the very last woman I ever see.
I don’t know that I would be shocked if, within the hour, the FBI kicks in my front door. It’s not like I was exactly strategic in her abduction. I did my best to stay out of sight of cameras at the hotel, but there’s no way to avoid them all.
I stood watching her in the middle of that ballroom as she spoke to her father and a man I now know as Jackson Smith after a brief internet search earlier.
I’m sure the feds have already been through the camera footage. They already know I watched her. They’ve already run my face through face-recognition software. They know the name I was born with.
They may not know it yet, but the name I go by now will eventually be discovered. It’s not like I’ve spent my entire lifetime trying to bury the man.