Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Let her go.” The voice is deep, commanding, and fucking pissed.
Immediately, the girl releases me and runs, her hulking boyfriend right behind her. I fall back, panting against the wall, my heart still hammering in my chest. I’m dizzy with fear, and I can’t see anything with the blinding light in my eyes.
I freeze when King Douchebag himself rounds the car and comes my way, still dressed in his mime costume from earlier, minus the mask. Though I’m relieved I’m not slashed to bits by the fucking asshole with the knife, it’s creepy as fuck that this guy just showed up like a stalker.
“Why?” I ask, bending down to pick up my shattered phone. This has been the worst night of my life, and I want to go home to nurse my wounds. Literally.
“Why me? Are you following me? How did you know I was here?”
“Get in the fucking car,” he seethes through gritted teeth.
Charming.
“What?” I say. Even though I could cry with relief, I’m not really sure that he’s a much safer option. “Are you out of your mind?” But no, I already know in my own head that I’m crazy if I think leaving the protection of his car and walking alone where my assailants are likely lying in wait, is a good idea. It’s a really dumbass move and I know it. God. This night. I want to go home.
I pause and look at him. Actually, I scowl at him. I need a minute to gather my thoughts. Logically, I know he’s a member of Verge. My best friends are members there, and I know they’re super careful about who they let in. It’s clear he’s wealthy and powerful, which is not a point in his favor, because wealthy, powerful men often get away a hell of a lot more than the average male.
“Cora,” he says, and hearing him call my name somehow clears my head. “Get in the fucking car, before I throw you over my shoulder, put you in there, and buckle you in myself.”
He’s so huge and furious, he just might do it. Jesus, he’s beautiful and arrogant, when the streetlight catches his blue eyes, sapphires under the glint of moonlight.
“Fucking now,” he bellows.
“Fine!” I fume. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to get my ass kicked, and not because I think you’re my knight in shining fucking armor, got it?”
“Whatever,” he growls, opening the door.
It’s then that I realize he’s opening the door to the passenger side of the car, and he has a driver in the driver’s seat. Is this like a mini limo or something?
Who is this man? I slide into the back seat, and immediately feel on edge. The sprawling, luxurious interior is bedecked in rich black leather, fragrant and expensive. I’m afraid I’m going to ruin it with my bloody lip, but he’s bossed me in here and he can deal with whatever mess since it’s his fault.
A second later, he folds himself into the car and slams the door, pushes a button on his watch, and speaks into it like he’s fucking Batman.
“Hospital,” he says.
“Jesus! I’m not going to the hospital. I don’t have time for that,” or money, I think. “That’s such an overreaction. I bumped my head and have a little scrape.”
“A little scrape,” he growls, pulling a tissue out of his pocket and dabbing at my neck. It stings, so I squirm, but his hand on my shoulder stills me. He’s breathing heavily and so am I.
“Stay still,” he orders. “You need to doctor that up.”
“Fine,” I say. “I will when I get home. No hospital.”
I avoid his probing eyes and keep my back ramrod straight. I can be stubborn when I need to be, and right now, I need to be.
He lifts his wrist to his mouth again. “Take us on a ride,” he orders. “Out of here. Head in the direction of my place.”
“I’m not going to your place,” I protest. “No way. Just take me home.”
He glares at me. “I’m not taking you to my place,” he says. “I said to drive in that direction, because we need to talk about a few things, and I know the drive there will give us time. You won’t be getting out of the car there.”
Makes total perfect sense. I roll my eyes.
I bite my lip and look away. Now I feel stupid to think he was taking me home, even though that’s what he said. Why would he do that? He humiliated me. Insulted me. And he’s clearly a powerful, wealthy man. What would he want with a poor, messed up girl like me?
“Great,” I mutter. “That makes total perfect fucking sense.”
“Be quiet,” he snaps.
I open my mouth to snap back at him, but he shuts me down with a glare and I’m not sure what I’m going to say anyway. He did just save me.