Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Javier’s voice startles me from sleep. “Get up,” he grunts angrily. When my eyes snap open, I find the dark-haired man glaring at me. His blue eyes are a stark contrast, and I wonder just how he got them. I haven’t seen many men like him: tanned skin, black hair, with those deep dimples when he smiles, and the dark dusting of stubble on his angular jaw. A sharp and prominent nose sits in the center of his face.
“What do you want?” I bite out.
“No me jodas, niña pequeña,” he growls—don’t fuck with me, little girl. The words sounding like an animal. “I’m not Victor, I don’t take your bullshit teenage hormonal outbursts.” His words are meant as venomous snide remarks, but they’re rather amusing coming from a man who’s nearly six-foot five and broad like a warrior.
Sitting up, I cross my arms in front of my chest, my lips pouting at his attack on me. “I wasn’t sassing you, just being observant. And, you’re not a very nice person.”
“No, I’m not. And you would do well to remember that.” The corner of his mouth tilts up, and I can’t help staring at him smirking happily at my observation. “I’m going to open the gate, you try anything, I’ll put you down like a fucking dog. I don’t care if Victor cares for you.” His eyes flame with rage when he unlocks the cell door and pulls it open.
“Where am I going?” I question, but as the afterthought hits me, I wonder what he means—Victor cares for me. That must’ve been a mistake, because Mr. Cordero doesn’t care for anyone.
“Mr. Cordero wants to see you,” he informs me, gripping my arm and tugging me up the stairs behind him. My feet aren’t even awake yet, and I stumble my way behind the large oaf of a man who’s slowly annoying me more than scaring me.
When we finally reach the landing, he tugs me harder, as we make our way down the hall and into a large office that looks like it belongs in old school England. The dark wood with the walls of bookshelves are more like a haven than a horror show. I want to spend all my time running my fingers along the spines of the books, but Javier shoves me into an armchair with a glare pinned on his boss.
“Call me when you’re done.” He leaves without another word, and I watch as Victor stares at the door long after Javier is gone. It’s clear they’re close because Javier wouldn’t be as angry with me if they weren’t.
He let it slip that Victor cares for me and something tells me that he doesn’t like that fact at all. Perhaps I can use it to my advantage. Those shimmering eyes fall to me before he rises and stalks toward me.
I don’t cower, which only makes the color of his gaze turn molten, like gold melting over rocks turning them to gilded gems. He pulls a gun from a holster in his jacket and points it at me. The barrel nudged under my chin, his free hand fisting my long brown hair, and he tugs my head back until my eyes are locked on his.
My collar is exposed, and I know he can see my pulse beating wildly against the column of my neck. He watches me for a moment before he leans in close, pushing the metal against my flesh, causing me to shiver.
“I don’t like fucking games,” he hisses in my face. I don’t expect it, but he suddenly pulls the trigger, and I yelp in fear, feeling the heat of my urine wetting the pants I’m wearing, which only turns my skin bright red in embarrassment.
“I-I-I—”
“Yes, you play me, juguete, and I’ll fucking kill you.” His words are filled with pure rage. There isn’t an ounce of the man who came to me last night in the cell, and I have no idea what he’s talking about. Even though I try shaking my head, I can’t, because his grip in my hair is too strong.
“Y-y-you’re wrong.” Even though I manage to choke out the words, he doesn’t believe me, because it’s written all over his face. Indifference.
It’s all I get out before he glances down to see I’ve wet myself in fear of him killing me. He drops to his knees for a second, his hands hovering over me, as if he wants to lift me up, to touch me and ask if I’m okay.
But the second vanishes quickly when he pushes to his feet and steps back. His mask being pulled back on. His full lips curve slightly, and I wonder if he’s amused that I’ve messed myself. He releases my hair and stalks around his desk. He picks up the phone and taps a few numbers into the base.