Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Oh, fuck no. I run to the window and look outside, and there he is, leaning against his car, a cigarette between his lips, as he looks up at the building.
“I would get away from the window. I don’t think he knows which one is yours… yet.”
Thinking she’s right, because he would be in here already, I duck down, then lift up on my knees and peek out. I see him talking to a neighbor’s kid, then watch in horror as the kid points to my window. His eyes lock on mine, and I fall backward at the steely glare he sends my way.
“He moves fast,” I breathe out.
“You didn’t really think he wouldn’t, did you?”
“Shut up. And get out before he comes up.” I push her, but she brushes me off.
“Hand me one of your guns. I’ll sit with Brody.”
That’s friendship right there.
But…
“I can’t drag you into this.” She waves a hand over her shoulder.
“I’m already in this. Now, give me a gun, and I’ll let you handle him.” I reach for one and place it in her waiting palm. She checks that it’s loaded before she goes into Brody’s room, and just as she does, a knock is heard on the door.
It’s not hard and fast like Merci’s, but it’s there.
“Chanel Lilly. What a beautiful name.” I freeze at his voice.
“Lucas Rossi. What a feral name.”
He goes silent on the other side of the door. “Should I kick the door in, or do you plan to open it?” he asks after a moment of silence. “I’ll give you to five, but be warned, you will have made me extra fucking furious.”
Then he starts counting.
One.
Two.
My feet carry me toward the door.
Three.
I touch the handle.
Four.
Bracing myself, I pull it open to see Lucas standing there. He looks me over and then walks in, pushing straight past me, kicking the door shut behind him.
I’m frozen in place as he strides around, his eyes assessing my space before they come back to land on me. “Nice shithole.”
I can’t deny his words, it is a shithole. But I attempt to keep it clean, at least.
“Now, would you like to talk here, or in the bedroom?”
4
Chanel
What the fuck?
“Here,” I bite back.
He looks over my shoulder to Brody’s bedroom, then quickly closes the few feet between us and Brody’s door. Once his hand is covering the knob, he turns and looks back at me, a serious but somehow slightly playful look in his eyes.
“I don’t like company,” he says, then opens the door.
I step up behind him to see Brody on his bed, with Merci next to him, pointing the gun at the door.
“I would put that down and leave,” he commands.
Neither of them move a muscle.
I slip in next to him, my side touching his as I look at them. “You should go. Go to Merci’s and I’ll stay here.”
Brody’s eyes lock on mine, and I see the worry etched there.
Merci goes to speak, but I hold up my hand. “I’ll be there after, I promise.” She still doesn’t seem convinced. Lucas stays quiet next to me, so I walk in and grab the gun from her hand as she gets up.
She leans in. “Shoot first, ask questions later,” she whispers. I know what she’s talking about. There have been a lot of rapes in the area, and all of us women have been carrying weapons of some sort around with us. But I have a feeling Lucas doesn’t need to rape a woman.
“I’d advise against that. I’m hard to kill,” Lucas replies, overhearing what she said.
Merci pulls back and reaches for Brody’s hand, tugging him out the door.
I turn to face Lucas. “I’m sure a bullet to your brain would suffice.”
“You’d have to aim it at me first.” He licks his lips.
I hear the front door shut and I do just that. Lifting the gun, the safety already off, I aim. But before I can get it at his height, he has disarmed me.
How in the hell?
“I’d punish for a lot less,” he rasps, then takes the gun to the counter, removes the bullets, and places it down as if it’s an everyday occurrence for him.
“Why are you here?” I ask as he steps back over to me. The cut on his throat is still red, blood now dried in a neat line, but he doesn’t seem to care. He leans in and smells me, before pulling back and sitting on the sofa. His hands splay out against the back of it, and he locks those eyes on me.
I don’t move from where I’m standing, waiting for him to say, or do, whatever he came here to. But then his gaze drifts to my bathroom and he nods to it. The door is open, and from where he’s sitting, he can see the shower-bath cubicle inside.