Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
This possibility occurred to me when I came up with this plan but only in vague what-ifs, and now it’s staring me in the eyes like a hurricane and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Calvino takes a step closer. He’s big, so big, rippling with strength and about an inch taller than his brother. He looks down at me, glances at the phone pressed against my breasts, and I swear I catch a gleam in his eyes as he looks at my body, and slowly he tilts his head.
“Is he alive?” he asks, which is not what I expected him to say. I’m stunned and too surprised to talk, but quickly gather myself and nod once.
“Asleep.”
“And is that his phone?”
I look at the device in my hands. Can I lie right now? Probably, but he’ll see through it.
“Yes,” I say.
“Get up.”
I stand and take a step away from the slumbering Vincent.
Calvino advances on me and I keep going, back and back and back as the big monster looms above me like a velvet rope twisted into a noose. He radiates a strange, collected calmness that’s incredibly menacing but in a quiet way, like he doesn’t need words to get across what he wants, the world should simply know what it owes him. Where his brother is all brash and loud and intense, Calvino is a self-contained world of darkness and I’ve never been able to get a peek past his many defenses.
Until now, at least. The anger that bubbles off him like mist on a cool morning is so deliciously terrifying that I drop his brother’s phone and watch it bounce a few feet away. Calvino ignores it as I slam up against the wall behind me.
He grabs my wrists, faster than I thought possible, and grips them hard enough to make it hurt as he lifts them up above my head.
I suck in a shocked breath. One of his big palms is large enough to hold me tight like an iron manacle around my supple flesh.
“Why is my brother asleep and why are you going through his phone? Who are you, Grace? Who sent you?”
“I’m nobody,” I whisper and it’s true, I’m nobody to him. I’m not a part of their world or at least I wasn’t until my life was shattered by a phone call one year ago. “Nobody sent me. I’m just looking for answers.”
“Answers.” He purrs that word. A terrifying shiver runs down my spine. He controls me now and there’s nothing I can do to escape from the bulk of him as he keeps me pinned and helpless against the wall. I feel the heat of him roll into my skin and I’m not sure if I’m afraid or if I want him to tighten his grip.
He looks at me like he wants to bite my lips before he rips out my throat.
“Answers about what?” he asks.
“Your brother and his business. My cousin, she’s gone, and I needed answers. He has them.” The story’s jumbled in my fear and panic. I can’t get it out, can’t say it straight.
He tilts his head, considering. “Hold still.”
“Hold still for what?”
His other hand moves up my body. I suck in a shocked breath as he grazes my bare thigh and pats along my stomach. He stares into my eyes as he does it like he’s searching for something and I release a pathetic whimper, half from pure agonizing terror and half from the thrill of him touching my skin like this. Something must be seriously wrong with my brain if I’m thinking about him peeling my clothes off right now when I should be more worried about him cutting open my veins and bleeding me out.
He touches along the waistband of my skirt until he finds the folded-over fifty his brother gave me along with some other tip money—and the empty plastic baggie.
I nearly curse. I should’ve thrown that fucking thing in the trash but I was too afraid of someone finding it. He holds it up toward the light and squints at the tiny bit of powder residue.
The door opens again as Calvino stares at me with utter anger and curiosity.
Diego strides into the room. He’s tall, like Calvino, with dark hair slicked back, light brown skin, and sparkling green eyes. He’s always got a smile on his face, and right now’s no exception. His black shirt’s rolled up to the elbows and the tattoos on his forearms make the twisted, corded muscle look like blocks of hardened ink as he turns to sleeping Vince and releases a snort.
“Is this why the girls are hiding in the back like a bunch of scared chickens?” he asks and looks over at me. “You need a hand with that one?”
Calvino shoves the money and the empty baggie in his pocket but doesn’t release me and doesn’t look back at Diego. “Take her to my place.”