Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 79959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” she said, looking between us. “Both of you. That was really considerate. I swear I'll reimburse you when I get back to my...”
“They're clothes, not a sports car,” I said, shaking my head. “You ain't payin' me back for shit.”
“And by that he means 'you're welcome and don't worry about it',” Cash said, smiling. “Go get yourself dressed so we can eat.”
And with that, she was off.
“Where the fuck did you get all that shit?” I asked, raising a brow.
“Went into the store, found a pretty little thing that worked there. Great rack. So lush. Wanted to motorboat the fuck out of her right there. Anyway,” he said, shaking his head, “told her my sister was coming to visit and lost her luggage and that I needed all the shit bitches need day to day. That's what she came up with.” Cash paused and at my silence, raised a brow, a smirk toying at his mouth. “Seriously? You left out that she's the prettiest fucking thing to ever cross your path?”
“She's traumatized. Sorry if I didn't notice she's good looking.”
“Oh, fuck off,” he laughed, rolling his eyes. “You absolutely noticed. I bet you've thought about ten different ways to fuck her already.”
“Hands off, Cash,” I said, my voice a warning.
Which only accomplished to make his smirk stretch out. “'Cause she's yours.”
“She's not mine,” I growled, plating the food. “No one is touching her. Who knows what the fuck they did to her. She don't want no man touching her.”
“Admit you want to and I'll let it drop.”
If I didn't agree, he literally would never let it drop. He was a stubborn fuck. And I was perpetually short on patience. “Fine. I want to. But it ain't happening.”
“Sure it ain't,” he smiled.
“It's not,” I said firmly. “We need to talk about other things. Like how we are going to handle this.”
Cash shrugged. “We could call K.”
“K?”
“Yeah from the city. He disappears people. Mostly women who get themselves caught in bad situations. He's good at it. Been doing it for years. She needs to disappear. He will disappear her.”
Seven
Summer
The sound of male voices woke me up. It wasn't an altogether unfamiliar sound. And it wasn't the least bit comforting. I shot up in bed, surprised when my wrists didn't pull, before I remembered where I was.
Free.
I was free.
I was in Reign's house. And, for the moment, I was safe.
But there was still the sound of men's voices. Two. When there was only supposed to be one in the house. So I crawled out of bed, holding my pants up, and crept down the hall, listening.
I had barely made it around the corner when I saw the source of the other voice, the one that wasn't gargled glass sounding like Reign's. It was smoother. Like whiskey or wine.
He was tall and thin but muscular in black jeans, a white tee, and a black cut like Reign had been wearing when he picked me up. But this guy was blonde. Well, the half of his head that wasn't shaved was blonde and long. His eyes were a deep green. But his face, his face was all his brother's. As in, they were actual brothers.
“Heya sweetheart.”
That was all it took for me to know he was safe. He wasn't like V's guys. He wasn't even somewhat scary like his brother. He was warm and open and friendly. I could trust him.
And then he gave me a trenta mocha full fat with a shot and whip. And I think I fell half in love with him.
Not really, but ya know... it kinda made my day. Or month. Or year.
And then he told me they had conspired to get me clothes and soap and girl stuff. And the tears I had kept inside for three months came springing to my eyes, stinging. I couldn't cry. Over clothes. In front of two relative, but really kind, strangers. I couldn't do that. So I took a deep breath, accepted the bags, and rushed off to the bathroom.
Tears fell. Hot and heavy, but not sad. I reached for the bags, pulling items out and placing them on the sink counter. Three pairs of yoga pants: black, gray, deep green. Three t-shirts: black, gray, white. One sweatshirt in pink. One sweater in white. Socks. Pretty patterned but simple undies, five of them.
And then there was the accessory bag. Which spoke highly of very in depth, intimate knowledge of women. Lavender soap and a matching lotion. High end shampoo and conditioner. A leave-in conditioner. Hair ties. A heavy handled, rectangle brush. Shaving cream and razors. Tweezers. Face wash and a special moisturizer. A tube of chapstick. A toothbrush, paste, and floss. And, ha, a box of tampons.
**
Six weeks. I had been there forty-two days. My stubby, bloody nails had just etched the line into the wall when they burst in.
“Gonna go see V today.”
Seeing V meant I was going to get hurt. Not by him. Not usually anyway. The other guys did the actual hitting and kicking and cutting and branding. V just gave the go ahead. He also called them off when he thought I had gotten enough.
My wrists were untied from the headboard but not released from the rope. No. Deke took those ropes and dragged me forward by them, making sure to jerk them every couple of feet to make them bite into my skin. Deke was a sadistic bastard, but Martin was the one who gave me pause to worry.
It was his eyes. His black as night eyes. Soulless. Devoid of anything human.
Deke, the monster, had blue eyes. The bright kind. But there was still a person behind them. And that gave me hope on bad days.
I had a feeling it was going to be a very bad day.
The basement smelled like piss. It always did. Even though the half of it that I was taken to was always empty. Maybe the smell came from the other side. Maybe they did things to other people to make them lose control of their bladders. The windows gave a small amount of light and were barred. The walls cinderblocks. The floors cement. Cold. It was always so cold down there.