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)
I could easily escape his adorable attempt at an intimidation trap, but he doesn’t know that, and I kind of want to see how far he’ll push.
Why?
No idea. Maybe because no one ever pushes.
No one ever does a damn thing without asking for permission, but this guy?
I wonder if he’s ever asked for anything in his life. He strikes me as the impulsive type, so really he’s not the only fool in this scenario because if he’s as slick as whatever trick he used to get in here, he could ram a knife into my lung right here, right now. No one would know some emo, grunge, rapper-looking boy toy ended me until they came asking why I never made it down for Delta’s performance.
What I should do is beat him to the punch, knee him in the nuts, grip the decanter to my right and smash his pretty, scarred face in.
Yet, something keeps me from moving an inch, even when he does.
Hands still flat on the bar top, he slides them farther back, his chest now firm against my own, but I merely lift my chin in challenge.
A hint of amusement flickers in his gaze, sparking something within me. Something reckless and bound to backfire.
“Does the princess wanna find out how selfish I can be?” he offers, but his tone is falsely flippant.
Someone’s confident, but somehow, it’s not in the usual way. I get the feeling if I laughed at him or went with the obvious attempt to tear him down, like pointing out the well-worn shoes on his feet or the faded, threadbare jeans stretched over his thighs, he’d go full-on Eminem in 8 Mile on me, lay all his shit out and let you judge, because fuck you.
Or that’s what I imagine he would say.
It’s in the steady way he stares and the playful yet purposeful manner he moves.
It’s the fact that he’s here right now at all, while half the state’s biggest crime families pretend to enjoy each other’s company on the other side of this wall.
“In your dreams.”
His tongue comes out, flicking along his lip ring, and like a lightning bolt in a stormy night sky, my attention strikes down.
The tall, tattooed tyrant leans toward me, and I narrow in on the gleaming silver loop on the tip of his pink tongue as it teases the spot demanding my notice.
His feet shuffle in, bringing us nose to nose, and my lips flatten as his jeans meet my bare skin, the heat of his breath rolling over my jaw and neck when he dips the slightest bit.
“Them legs, those heels … I don’t know, Rich Girl, there’s a good chance you might be exactly what I see when I close my eyes tonight.”
“Careful.” I yank my head to the side when the presence of his mouth is felt closer to my cheek … and the tingling sensation it creates travels farther south without permission. “We don’t take kindly to those who touch what doesn’t belong to them.”
“Would you look at that. Guess we’ve got something in common, after all,” he whispers. “See, I’m always careful. Why do you think I’m here?”
His body retreats in an instant, and I snap to attention, mouth parted in a brief moment of surprise as I realize his play but clamping into a flat line as he takes a few backward steps.
Once again, his lazy, brazen gaze licks across my skin, his teeth sinking into his swollen, recently split bottom lip. “Such a shame,” he murmurs to himself.
And then he turns to leave, lifting his hand to press on the sensor lock beside the door.
I could almost laugh. Truly.
Did he think it would be so easy?
He must assume he’s clever.
He’s not …
Bass
My palm comes down on the large, lit-up square, and the high-tech fuckery of a lock shifts … right as I’m kicked in the ass—a weak-ass kick.
Whipping around, I frown when Little Miss Priss isn’t standing behind me but now sitting on top of the bar, one long, naked leg crossed over the other, coin rolling a miniature dagger over the knuckles of her left hand, without so much as looking at it.
She cocks her head, lengthy, silky blonde hair spilling over her shoulder and teasing the edges of her bare thighs. My hand slaps out once more, and the door behind me relocks.
She curls her fingers over the edge of the bar, her brows bouncing once.
Keeping a careful eye on her, I shift, quickly glancing at my back pocket. A small silver blade sticks straight through the worn denim. I yank it free and toss it to the side before pulling my phone out of said pocket, the phone she fucking swiped from me with her little kitty cat game of brushing her body against mine at the gas station. The back is pierced, the techy bullshit on the inside staring back at me.