Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
And good-looking.
Devastatingly so.
There was just something about his eyes, something almost primal, wild, wolf-like.
I'd never been a girl who understood the appeal to bad boys while all the girls in my school went gaga over them, but standing there in the bank with that man looking down at me with those eyes and that smirk, yeah, I was starting to understand what all the hype was about.
Because this guy had 'bad boy' written all over him.
Except, of course, that he wasn't a boy at all.
No.
This was a man.
I generally always had interest in guys my own age, people I had things in common with, people who I saw as equals.
But there was no denying the little fluttery feeling of my pulse as he looked down at me, and the rest of the world fell away.
"I finished all my banking for the day," he told me, reaching outward to fiddle with the pens in my holder, his arm brushing mine as he did so. "It's almost lunchtime, isn't it?" he asked, making me look hopefully over at the clock that I swore moved more slowly than any clock I had ever seen before.
Sure enough, we were inching ever closer to the one good part of my workday. My hour-long lunch - a luxury no previous job had ever afforded me.
"Oh, thank God," rushed out of me too fast to try to hold in. "I mean... I didn't have breakfast," I quickly covered, not wanting it to get back to my uncle that I was not enjoying my time - or generous salary - here.
"Are you going home for your break?"
Sure, I would probably get a three course meal there from one of the staff members, but, for the most part, neither my uncle nor his wife were home to eat more than a few meals a week there, so I felt guilty at the idea of making them cook just for me, adding more tasks to their already full schedules.
"Um, no. I think I am going to head over to Teryan Street," I told him. "There is a place that sells these amazing zhingyalov hats."
"Hats?" he repeated, brows furrowing. "I'm afraid I'm not up-to-date on my Armenian food. I just came to town a few days ago."
"Oh, well. They're these breads stuffed with oregano, sage, basil and some kind of greens - it varies by day. They're amazing. You have to try some."
"Tell you what," he offered, head tipping to the side a bit. "How about I buy us both some?"
I knew I was supposed to be suspicious of strange men. Especially in foreign countries where I didn't have complete lay of the land.
But, well, there was simply no way I was going to refuse a quick lunch with this amazingly good-looking man.
"Sure," I agreed, shooting him a smile I hoped was confident, but suspected likely came off a little shy.
"Mikhail," he told me, giving me a smile. "Osman."
"Mackenzie Minasian," I told him, grabbing my purse, slipping my feet back into my heels I had discreetly removed under the desk. "But you can call me Mack," I told him, rounding the other side of my desk.
"Mack," he repeated, reaching out for my hand.
As I slid mine into his, I had the strangest thought.
This is a hand I am going to hold forever.
God, I had never been more wrong.
THREE
Roan
It didn't matter how much training you had, how many times you had been through it, how tough you tried to make yourself.
Getting shot hurt like a motherfucker.
I knew it was going to come as I heard the round explode into the air. Just a blink after that, I felt the searing heat of a bullet tearing through flesh.
My thigh.
And just far enough to the outside of it to avoid an artery.
A distraction wound.
Either Mack was a terrible shot.
Or she was a really, really good one.
Either way, though, my leg muscles gave out, knees buckling, sending me to the ground. I managed at the last possible second to brace my hand on the ground, keeping my bad leg from hitting, from the impact ricocheting upward, making the pain even worse.
"Roan!" Reign's voice shouted, skidding to a stop beside me, dropping down.
"Just my thigh," I told him, taking slow, deep breaths. "Someone is going to need to fish it out of me though," I told him as my hand cupped above the wound, the pressure taking a small bit of the pain away.
"We'll take care of you. We just need to secure the perimeter."
"She tunneled in," I told him, jerking my chin toward the back of the grounds where Sugar was taking off to the far end of the property.
"That had to have taken days. Weeks even," he growled, anger rising up. "Did you get a good look?"
There was no stopping the snort that came out of me. "Look, touch, taste..."