Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 134663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“No,” I murmur before I can stop myself, trying to slap his hand away. I feel dirty. Wrong. This situation isn’t unusual—assholes taking advantage, and usually I would oblige, knowing it was for the greater good. Knowing I got to keep my life if I just let it happen. Not now. Now, I can’t think of anything worse than another man’s hands on me.
“Oh, you’re shy?” He nuzzles my nose, and my stomach churns, my face turning away. “I’ve seen that fine body of yours. In Black’s office. You weren’t shy then, were you?” His fingers slip past the seam of my panties, and I tighten my thighs, trying to make access as difficult as possible. “You’re not wet,” he hums. “We’ll soon see to that.”
My dress is quickly yanked up to my waist, and I cry out. “Stop!”
“I’ll stop when I’ve got what you’ve been teasing every man in this house with since you arrived.” He yanks at my panties, and the move brings last night flooding back. Danny was rough, but he didn’t make me feel like a whore. He didn’t make me feel this cheap. But I am. This is all I am. I just forgot for a few hours.
No!
I muster strength from somewhere and shove him back, darting for the front door. Watson yells and throws himself in my path, blocking me. So I swing around and retreat up the stairs, running as fast as my heeled feet will carry me. I fall into my room and rush to the bathroom, locking myself inside.
I can hear him on the other side of the door. He tries it once, jiggling the handle. Then he laughs and leaves.
I curl up in the corner on the floor, pulling my dress back into place.
And . . . I cry.
Chapter 17
DANNY
* * *
I step out of the car, Brad and Ringo in tow, and look up at the face of the building, pulling off my shades. I’ve felt off all morning, and while I’d love to put it down to the bottle of Scotch I sank last night . . .
I want you gone before I get back.
Her surprise. The hard, determined look in her eyes. Her . . . acceptance.
I pause at the door of the hospital in Fort Lauderdale, my hands clammy. Just do it. Get this shit sorted and the deal wrapped up.
The electric doors open, and I scan the entrance hall.
“You sure about this?” Brad asks, speaking up for the first time since we left Miami.
“No.”
“Danny, the woman.”
“What about her?”
“She’s distracting you. Affecting you. You’re making stupid decisions.”
“What, like killing the boy?” I get moving, striding through the hospital. “Where’s his room?”
“He’s in the gardens getting some fresh air,” Ringo says, pointing the way. “I have eyes on him.” We round the corner and find a set of automatic doors leading out into a vast green landscaped garden, where dozens of people mill around. I put out my arm, stopping Brad and Ringo at the door. There’s too many people. “Cameras?”
“Off.” Brad practically sighs as I turn to Ringo.
“I’ll text you your command. Meet us back at the car.”
“Got it,” Ringo confirms, and I make off down a brick path, ambling casually, looking discreetly around the area. It doesn’t take me long to find the boy. He’s by the pond in a wheelchair, the nurse handing him bread to toss to the ducks. I come to a stop, watching them, the boy expressionless, the nurse trying to coax a smile. She’s trying in vain. The kid has woken up and been told that his parents are dead. He probably wants to be dead himself. I can put him out of his misery. End this for him. Do us both a favor.
Something tugs in my heart, something unwanted.
“You got any family?”
I took the notes and shook my head. “No, sir.”
“Two fifties aren’t going to get you very far in life, are they?”
“I suppose not, Mister. Wanna gimme some more?”
“Get in the car.”
“In your car?”
“Yes, in my car. Get in.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re coming home with me.”
And he did exactly that. Gave me a home. I was saved from my misery. And I realize in this moment the kid has everything to live for. I look at him and see me. A boy with no hope. No future. No love.
Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?
I pull my phone from my pocket when it vibrates and answer Ringo. “I see him. I have a clear shot,” he tells me, and I whip my eyes across the pond to see my man up on the roof. His gun is poised, aimed and ready to fire. My eyes cast back to the boy. He’s smiling. It’s faint, but he’s smiling.
“Stand down,” I order, shaking my head at the same time.
“What?” Ringo sounds confused.