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)
“Don’t you have some questions you want to ask me?” He turns me around, the gun still in his hand, both of us now covered in Marcus’ blood.
I look to the floor to see Marcus again and close my eyes to keep myself from vomiting, although my body is reacting strangely, and I’m starting to get hot.
“I thought you’d finished selling yourself. If you need money, you could have asked.”
I look back at him, taking a step back like he just slapped me and my mouth falling open in shock.
Hot.
Cold.
Hot.
This man has issues.
Issues I can’t help him with.
“I don’t need nor want your money,” I bite back. “Now, remove your hands, or it will be the last time they ever touch me.” My voice sounds even, but it’s not. It’s shaky, and I don’t know what I just said, but it works.
Lucas’ hands drop from my body.
“Now, why did you have to go and say that? I enjoy touching you.”
I go to speak, but he cuts me off.
“And you enjoy my touches.”
“Just because I like something doesn’t mean it’s good for me.”
Lucas’ beautiful head drops to the side, the corner of his lips lifting up in a smirk, and I almost forget about what he did. About everything he’s done. Almost.
“You disgust me.”
“Not the first time a woman has said that to me, but I do hope you are the last.” He steps toward me, but I move and trip straight over Marcus’ body. Falling face-first, I manage to put out my hands to stop myself from hitting the floor, but I slip in the blood and brains, still ending up face planting into the floor, my cheek now covered in blood. A scream rips from me as I try to get up, only to slip again and again.
“I would help you, but you insisted I not touch you,” he remarks with a smirk.
Pushing up slower this time, my face and chest covered in blood, I look over to Marcus. “This is my fault,” I whisper to him, a hiccup leaving me. I bite the inside of my cheek to try to and keep from crying, but I am not sure how successful I will be.
Hands touch my face, and I feel Lucas’ thumb stroke over my blood-covered skin, not even caring it’s someone else’s.
“No, it’s mine. I killed him.”
“But—”
“No buts.” He pauses. “And I’d do it again.” He drops my face and I glance at him.
“I don’t want to see you again.” I rush to say the words, just trying to get them out before I falter.
“Well, we can’t have that happen, can we?”
“I hate that you’re in my life.”
“You don’t, not really. You just aren’t used to me yet.”
“I hope I never will be.” Taking a deep breath, I turn and run out the door into the pouring rain. The drops of water cause the blood to run in rivulets over my dress and down my legs onto the dark city street.
I walk as quickly as I can to my car and get in.
As I speed past the bar, I see Lucas standing in the doorway, watching my escape with a small smirk still planted on his lips. It makes me sick.
23
Lucas
I’m sitting behind the bar, staring at a bottle of tequila, when Sergio walks in a few hours later.
“Fuck. Well…” He scratches the back of his head as he looks on at the mess surrounding me. “… You had to go and kill the bartender. Do you know how hard it was to find a decent one to run this place?”
“You have Brody now. Train him up, he’ll do well.”
“And when he asks what happened to Marcus?” He nods to where Marcus still lies, the blood starting to dry in a perfect circle around his head.
“You tell him I put a bullet in his brain for touching something that’s mine.”
“Let me guess…” he pauses before he says, “Her.”
“Ding, ding, ding.”
Sergio shakes his head, walks out the back, and returns with a tarp. I watch as he rolls the body up, then drags it out the back before he comes back with bleach and a mop and a dozen other things, I have no idea what they do.
“Do you think me a fool?” I ask.
Sergio stops what he’s doing. “Never. I think the opposite.” He goes back to mopping.
“She hates me,” I tell him, pouring myself a drink.
“You don’t understand women,” he states. “You are a taker, but you can’t take something that doesn’t want to be taken, sir.”
“She likes the things I do for her.”
“In the bedroom only?” he asks, and I nod. “So not in real life.”
“I wasn’t meant to have her…” I pause, “… to want her. I’ve had my taste, and I should move on.” My fingers tap on the counter. “I should move on, correct?”