Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
All I want to do is curl up in his bed. To feel him against me again. To breathe him in and have his whispered words.
I want him to make me crazy promises all over again.
But we’re still a long way off from that.
When I look at him right now, I’m not sure if we’ll ever get back to that place again.
He can barely look at me.
I touch his arm, and he glances down at me.
“Kiss me,” I tell him.
He’s going to say no, so I make up a whole thing.
“If she’s here, then she’ll see it, and she’ll want to take you away. She likes to play with my toys.”
He grabs my wrist, and his grip is hard and unforgiving.
“I’m not a goddamn toy, Scarlett. And I’m not kissing you either.”
“Fine,” I pout. “Then I guess we’ll be here all night.”
Only we aren’t.
Because there she is.
Across the room, in the shadows, seeking out her next prey. Tonight, she’s wearing a blue wig and horn-rimmed glasses while she sucks on a lollipop.
She is not lacking for victims, and I need to do this fast.
I move towards her, and she glances in my direction. And smirks.
Rory follows after me, and she doesn’t seem to mind my tag-along.
I don’t know Storm well. But I know she’s like me. She doesn’t want long drawn out explanations, and she’s short on time and patience.
“I need your help,” I tell her.
She smiles at me, like she was expecting me to say something like that, before she tilts her head to the side and examines Rory.
“What’s in it for me?”
“You get to fuck up a couple of rich guys,” I offer. “But we’re not talking catch and release this time.”
She’s still looking at Rory- still sucking on her lollipop- and it’s pissing me the fuck off now.
“How about you let me play with this toy?” she asks.
“How about I shove that goddamn sucker down your throat until you choke on it?”
Rory wraps his palm around the nape of my neck. A possessive gesture, and also a calming one. He wants me to be cool, and this is his way of telling me Storm is not a threat.
This toy is always going to be mine, and I’m not willing to share him. Not anymore. Not ever.
“I guess I can help you,” Storm says with a dainty shrug of her shoulder. “Not like I have anything better to do.”
“Tomorrow afternoon.” I slip her the card for the hotel room. “Don’t be late.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, eyeing Rory again.
She licks her lips and smiles, tossing him a wink. And it hits me, what she’s trying to do.
She’s testing him.
To see if he’s a cheater.
Like the men she destroys.
“He’s not,” I answer her unspoken question.
She looks at me and smiles again.
“I like to make up my own mind about that.”
Thirty-Seven
Rory
I bring Scarlett home and tell her I have some work to do.
She doesn’t argue because she’s tired.
Defeated.
I question again if this is the right thing. Allowing her to do this.
But when I see her studying the file again at the kitchen table, I know that it is.
Scarlett will never be able to move forward with her life until she feels safe. Words mean nothing to her.
I could make her all the promises in the world about how well I am going to take care of her, but she needs to feel it herself.
She needs to feel like she did it herself.
And until then, she is trapped in the headspace of her past.
When she falls asleep on the couch, I move her into my bed. As her head lulls against my chest on the walk down the hallway, she curls her fingers into my shirt and breathes me in.
“Mine,” she murmurs in her sleep.
It’s a hot knife to my chest.
I want Scarlett, still.
I love Scarlett, more than anything.
But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust her.
I don’t know if she’ll ever be free from her past and ready to live in the present with me.
So when I lay her down and cover her over, I don’t join her. And until I know what tomorrow brings, I can’t let myself go there.
Not now.
And maybe not ever again.
“I got you something.”
Scarlett takes the box from my hands and opens the top, revealing the crimson dress inside. Her fingers move over the material, and she blinks up at me.
“Wow, Ace. You did good.”
“The devil should wear red,” I answer.
She smiles, and her fingers move over the intricate beading and layers of material.
“Very Gatsby-esque.”
“That’s the idea.”
She unzips her other dress and pulls it off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor below her. She’s all black lace and legs and tits and ass, and I’m hard as fuck watching her shimmy into the new one I bought her.
She struggles with the crossing straps on the back and gestures for me.