Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
It’s like I said, this girl … she’s not what first glances will tell you, so it’s not so unexpected when she tsks her tongue instead, her hand running over her long hair as if to make sure it’s still perfectly in place. “Boys and their toys.”
And she teases. Interesting …
“This one malfunctioned.”
Her lips twitch, and she hums, keeping toward the small brick building to my right. I watch until she disappears inside it and then turn to Hayze.
“Grab some pain pills and stuff ’em down his throat before you roll him down the hill. He’ll wake up enough to run once the ache’s hidden a bit.”
Hayze says nothing but rushes for the trunk.
Bending again, I empty the guy’s pockets, coming up with a wallet, cell, and a busted lighter. Hayze is back right as I’m climbing to my feet.
In tune as fuck with my thoughts, like always, he passes me my phone and I move toward the gas pumps, coming up behind the chick’s two-hundred-thousand-dollar beauty for a quick shot of the plate, just in case shit goes south and she’s not as immune to blood and bondage as she appears.
The second I toss the items into the trash can wedged between the window-cleaning station and the pump, the door to the convenience store is pushed open, and out she walks, silver-lensed shades now pulled down over her eyes.
She doesn’t falter at the sight of me standing two feet from her ride, just keeps on coming, a deep-red straw buried between her lips.
A perfectly arched brow lifts behind the large frames as she places herself an arm’s length from me, pressing a button on the keys in her hand. The butterfly door lifts, and she holds her right arm out, dropping her slushy into the trash. The blue liquid splashes up the barrel, but neither of us bothers to look to see if it marked us or not.
“Done already, huh?”
“I only wanted a taste,” she quips, tossing her tiny purse on the seat.
One backward step at a time, she changes her mind about sliding into her car, not bothering to close the doors, even though her bag is now sitting right inside, begging to be stolen.
I follow her, my movements slower, eyes locked on her long, toned legs as she crosses the right in front of the left, then spins, her skirt swirling around her thighs, hand coming up to hover over the hood of my car. Starting at the passenger side, her steps follow its contour, palm tracing the body without so much as letting a finger meet the frame.
“Yours?” she wonders as she rounds the vehicle, stepping out wide to avoid the stained proof of the asshole who ate gravel near the front right tire. She leans a bit closer, her eyes trailing over the hood before snapping to mine. An expectant blonde brow hikes up, the girl not used to being made to wait.
“Mine,” I confirm, keeping my face blank, but this chick saw a body on the ground before she walked into the store and didn’t so much as blink. Now, she skipped over a puddle of blood as if it was nothing but water and is pretending to admire the long, rusty-red hood of my ride … right where the VIN number used to be before I took a razor to that bitch. “It’s a—”
“A Cutlass, 1972,” she interrupts, bending at the knees, and my eyes dart to the curve of her ass so close to showing itself in that skirt. “And with the original grill.”
She glances over her shoulder, and I move my eyes to hers.
Hers narrow slightly, but it’s a play. Fake as fake can be.
This one knew exactly where my attention would be, just like I knew it was exactly where she wanted it.
She rises to her feet, completely ignoring Hayze’s presence when he makes his way back up the hillside. He slows, eyes darting my way in search of a signal—should he bag and gag her or let this play out. Arms loose at my side, I skate my fingertips over my jeans, silently letting him know without a word or glance that all’s good.
Blondie moves forward, hands folded behind her back like the perfect fucking prep she is, pausing when she’s about to pass me. Her left breast presses into the sleeve of my jacket, and her hand lifts, pushing her glasses up onto her head, and as it lowers, the points of her white-tipped fingernails graze along the edge of the zipper.
Mossy-green eyes lock on mine, and she blinks, nice and slow. “Your car has potential. Hate to see it wasted.”
“What can I say.” My gaze falls to her body, but I bring it right back with a quick flick. “I like a rough ride.”
This girl, there’s nothing rough about her. She’s all satin and silk, with smooth skin and sleek curves.