Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
I can feel her heartache coming through the message, the agony in each word.
What I want is to speak honestly with you, I reply. I want the truth. I want everything you’re willing to give.
This is skirting far too close to the full scope of my need, to possessing her body as much as her mind, to owning every little part of her.
It’s weird to talk about over text, she replies.
Then meet me in person. It can be anywhere you want.
I have this idea. In my head. Sort of like a movie scene. Of me driving up to your tattoo parlor, confidently stepping out, and walking across the street. Pushing the door open like it’s no big deal, like I’m the same as everybody else.
You can do it, I text. I know you can. Let’s meet tomorrow.
My body hungers for her, my muscles feeling like they expand, my seed making my manhood hard at the prospect of seeing her in real life.
Okay, she responds. How does midday sound?
It sounds perfect.
I almost smile, but then a thought occurs to me.
Emil.
Park around the back, I text Mia.
Why?
I want to tell her about Emil, the Cartel, everything, but I’m worried it would be enough to warn her away.
“That would be the right thing, eh, boy?” I say, scratching Speeder on top of the head as he pads over and stands next to me. “Warn her away. Maybe that’s what she needs.”
She doesn’t need to get messed up with me and Emil and all that crap.
People have been getting tickets. Text me when you’re outside, and I’ll come and meet you.
Okay, Killian… see you tomorrow.
I sit back, heart thudding, my mind alight as I get ready to see my woman.
CHAPTER 8
Mia
My hands are tight around the steering wheel, my body thumping in time with the city as I drive toward the studio.
The car’s a beat-up old junker, but it’s the most we can afford, kept as part of the fiction Mom and I entertain.
“I’ll be driving again soon,” she often says, and I nod like I believe her.
Now, I focus on the mechanics of driving, remembering the lessons Dad gave me, one of the only times he left the house. His father – my grandfather – had been a truck driver, so Dad had some pride about that.
But after the lessons, it was straight back inside….
It’s way earlier than Killian and I agreed to meet. It’s not even 10:00 am yet.
But when I woke this morning, I knew I had to get to the tattoo parlor as quickly as possible before the nerves wrapped around my body, invisible enemies, suffocating the resolve out of me.
I knew I had to force myself to do this, go out into the world, and do something for once.
I’ve got a short break in my work schedule since I put in extra hours last night.
My eyes are still burning from staring at the screen.
The city gets nicer the further I drive, going from rundown to cruddy to decent and then, as I reach Killian’s street, to trendy and presentable.
I drive around the back, remembering the request he made.
He wants me to text him when I’m outside.
Hiding in the back….
Like he wants to ensure nobody sees me, nobody knows Killian Blaze is meeting with a curvy nineteen-year-old nothing.
I shouldn’t think about myself like that. It’s not healthy.
But compared to Killian, how else am I supposed to think?
The sun shines down from icy clouds, making the world glimmer. Since Killian doesn’t know I’m here yet, I take out my phone.
Are we still on for later? I text.
It’s all a delay tactic, as the world outside seems to spin faster. My heart hasn’t stopped pounding since I stepped foot outside.
There’s so much space out there, but in the car, I’m protected.
What about when I leave the car?
I can’t wait to see you, he responds. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all night.
I squeeze my phone, imagining I’m pressing down on his arm instead, feeling his firmness, his security.
He’s been thinking about it because he doesn’t know what I’m like, the demons trying to drag me down.
Or is that just melodramatic craziness, thinking in those terms?
Why? I text.
Because I want to get to know you more, and it’s difficult to do that over text.
It isn’t. You could ask me anything, and I’d answer honestly.
He’s probably in there now, texting between clients, no idea he could push open the door of the second floor and look over the short fence, and see me sitting here in this beat-up piece of junk.
It’s not just about questions and answers, Mia, he replies. It’s about wanting to be close to you. To hold you… to kiss you.
But I’m a stranger to you.
My body shudders as I type the words. It’s like an alarm is going off in my head, telling me to get out of here as quickly as possible, telling me I’m insane for thinking I could do this.