Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 139870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 699(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 699(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
Scarface snaps. His big hand curls around my throat and squeezes, lifting until I’m barely hanging on by my tippy-toes. “You don’t think I know who you are, Widow?” he demands, leaning in closer and whispering in my ear. “You don’t think I see you hanging around Garcia and his boys all the time, whoring yourself out? You have a lot of fucking nerve coming in here and telling me who or what I can’t fuck. If I say I want to fuck you, then you better get on your fucking knees and start begging for it.”
I slam my knee up into his groin and watch as the fucker falls to the dirty floor before me. “Trust me, dickhead. You don’t want to see what happened to the last motherfucker who thought he could put his hands on me.”
“You little bitch,” he roars, diving for his gun, only he doesn’t find it because it’s already resting heavily in my palm and aimed right at his chest.
“Just fucking try me,” I dare him, watching as he raises to his feet.
“Give me my fucking gun, bitch.”
“You know,” I say, spinning it in my hand, the same way Nic does. “I think I might hang onto this.”
He dives for me, and I let a bullet fly free, shooting at his feet and watching as he comes to a startling halt, only now just realizing how far I’ll go to protect myself.
“Back off, Leon,” comes a voice from across the room. I glance across the room to find a man watching me, though it’s not with the same curiosity as the rest of them. There’s something oddly soothing about him, something that tells me that he’s the good kind while also someone who needs to be watched out for. “You don’t want to fuck with her. That’s big Lou’s kid. She could probably fuck you up a million ways before you even knew what was going on.”
Scarface looks back at me, his eyes raking up and down my body before he spits at my feet, forcing me back a step to avoid getting any of that shit on me. “You got off lucky this time, whore. Mark my words, you won’t be that lucky next time.”
Leon backs away, and I keep my eyes on him until he’s completely out of sight. I turn back to my savior with a small, grateful smile. The guy nods and then looks away as though it never happened in the first place.
I stay on my feet, my body too pumped up and alert to be able to relax back into the dirty couch. I glance around, unsure of what to do with myself. Does Russo want me to make friends, or am I just supposed to sit here and look pretty until this shit gets sorted?
With nothing else to do, I find myself edging toward the guy who saved me despite the fact that I had it more than under control … at least I think I did. He probably doesn’t want my company, and I don’t want his, but so far, he’s the only guy in the room who hasn’t looked at me like a cheap whore or like someone who can be used in their wicked games.
I tuck Leon’s gun in the back of my school skirt and get halfway to him when Russo’s booming voice sounds behind me. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he demands, making me spin around with wide eyes. “You were told to sit.”
I raise a brow and silently watch him, waiting to see what the hell he’s going to do about it. I might have come here looking for help but that doesn’t mean that I’m about to bow down and start kissing his damn feet. My hands fall to my hips, and for a seventeen-year-old girl, I must have bigger balls than anyone here in this room. “Are you done?” I question, raising my chin, taking a step toward him. “You may have branded me with your mark and stolen my freedom, but I’m not about being disrespected, and I sure as hell am not about having your men try to assault me. I’ve already put up with enough of that shit, and I’m not about to go through it again. Are we clear?”
Eyes widen all over the den, waiting for me to get my ass handed to me. But Russo just stares through a narrowed gaze, taking in my posture, more than aware that I will fight my way out of here if I have to. The seconds tick by, and with each passing one, the need to fidget grows, but I hold strong and don’t let him see my fear. “Good,” he finally says as though I just passed some kind of test. “I was worried you were weak. Maybe you’re a little more like your father than I gave you credit for.”