Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Her fingers run awkwardly over my back, poking me more than giving me a massage. Her feet shovel nervously around me, and I take notice of how old and worn out her sneakers are. Something is off here. The company we hire is a luxury brand with highly qualified and well-paid massage therapists.
Alarm bells go off in my head. I act before thinking about it more. My body moves on its own. Flipping over, I sit up. Grabbing her wrist with my left, I give it a hard tug toward me. She gasps and stumbles forward. Quickly, I wrap my free hand around her slender throat, holding her in place right in front of me. Her fingers circle my hand on her neck, trying to loosen the pressure I put on her airway.
“Who sent you?” I grit through my teeth.
Her chocolate-brown eyes are wide in fear. Her smooth, blemish-free skin pales, and her full pink lips are slightly parted. The only color on her face is the hue of red over her high cheekbones and the tiny freckles scattered over her small button nose.
She is as beautiful as she is annoying. Annoying because I was looking forward to a relaxing massage, and now, I have to deal with this intruder.
I normally don’t let my guard down so quickly, but there is an innocence in her eyes that has me loosening my fingers around her neck. She isn’t a threat. There is no darkness in her eyes, no deceiving thoughts hiding behind those long dark lashes, only fear and confusion.
Frozen in place, she doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t try to get away from me. Yet I keep a tight grip on her wrist, not wanting to let her go.
She might not be dangerous, but she can’t be trusted. Even though she wears the same Elite Massage shirt the other massage therapists usually wear, there is no way she was sent by the company.
“What’s your name?”
“Teagan Bennett,” she whispers softly.
I glance at the name stitched on the breast pocket of her shirt. “I didn’t know Teagan is short for Denise.”
She winces, squeezing her eyes shut with a frown as if to curse herself for telling me her real name. I, on the other hand, love it. I love that she is a bad liar and that she told me her real name instead of her fake one. Less work for me.
It’s clear that she has never done anything like this before. She is completely untrained. One of my enemies most likely paid her to pose as a massage therapist to get close to me. Now, I only need to figure out who and why.
“Who sent you?”
Her eyes fly open. “Elite Massage. I’m new, but I promise I’ll try my best.” She recites the obviously rehearsed line.
Throwing my legs over the side of the table, I stand. The towel slides down my legs as I move, leaving me completely naked a moment later.
Flustered, Teagan tries to step back, but I keep my grip on her wrist, pulling her close. She is much shorter than me, and being so near forces her to tilt her face to see me.
“Try again, Teagan,” I say her name slowly, really letting it roll off my tongue. “Tell me who sent you.”
She scans my face like she’s trying to figure out how dangerous I am and if she can trust me.
“I-I don’t know… I really don’t know his name.” She straightens her back as if she just caught herself being weak and hates it. She wants to be brave, but her bottom lip quivers. “I’m sorry, okay? If you just let me leave, I won’t tell anyone about this place.”
“What do I care if you tell someone about a hotel?” It’s only half a lie. I don’t care as long as she doesn’t know too much.
This poor girl has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. I’m not planning on hurting her, but I can’t just let her walk out of here, either. “Tell me what you know, and you won’t get hurt.”
She swallows slowly, probably buying herself some time to think. A few seconds later, she finally speaks. “My brother borrowed money from the guy. He couldn’t pay it back, so they made me do this instead. He sent two guys, and they told us if I didn’t they were going to hurt him.”
“What do they want you to do?”
“You believe me?” She sounds surprised, her voice going too high at the end of the sentence.
“Yes, I believe you.” I’ve always been naturally good at spotting a lie, but my training in Coronado honed that skill. Reading her facial expressions and body language, along with changes in her tone has me 100 percent certain that she is telling the truth. “I need to know what they want you to do.”