Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Eight floors of stunning limestone with gleaming windows and decorative stone accents that reminded you of castles.
“Trying to give you some slack,” August said, finally breaking the silence. “But I’m gonna need you to snap out of it a bit and walk into the hotel. You can lose your shit and get all hysterical in the room when we get to it.”
Yep.
That did it.
Made my wires between my mind and body, and especially my mouth, reconnected.
Who’d have thought all it would take August being his usual asshole self to do it?
“I’m not going to get hysterical,” I snapped, reaching for my door just as the doorman pulled it open for me.
“Seemed pretty fucking hysterical back there to me,” August said as he came around the car.
“Being worried about getting gang-raped and murdered by a bunch of assholes doesn’t mean I was hysterical,” I hissed under my breath as we made our way into the lobby.
It was all warm cream stone, glass chandeliers, and fussy furniture. All of it likely cost more than I would ever make in my lifetime.
I was suddenly acutely aware of how out of place I looked in my jeans, tee, and apron.
August, on the other hand, seemed to fit right in with his expensive-ass suit that he always wore. Which was why the employees were all smiles to him and pinched brows at me as they checked us in, then handed the keycards to August.
“I had to carry you out of there, shaking like a leaf,” he said, picking up the dropped conversation as we made our way to the elevators.
“You’re such an asshole,” I grumbled as the doors slid closed.
“Maybe,” he agreed, nodding. “But you don’t look like you’re going to shake out of your skin anymore.”
CHAPTER THREE
August
It was insensitive as fuck, but poking at her seemed to be the only way to snap her out of the fear that had wrapped her up in its web since the oven.
It wouldn’t do any good for her to be stuck in that mindset. Not when I needed to figure out what the fuck was going on, who was after her, and why.
“Jesus,” she hissed as she stepped into the hotel room.
All they had left was the presidential suite.
Which meant it was going for a couple grand a night. However, one look around said it was worth every last penny of that.
We walked into a massive open room with a sunken living room space with seating for at least twelve, a massive glass globe chandelier, a framed television, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lights of the city.
To the left appeared to be a full kitchen with a bar-height island and seats.
To the right was a half bath then the bedroom with more city views. And, I imagined, a spa-like bathroom, given the price of this place.
“There’s a bar,” I said, waving toward the cabinet in the living room. “Want a drink?”
“If I have to deal with you? Fuck yes,” she said, hugging her arms around herself, clearly still feeling vulnerable even if she was snarking at me.
“What’s your poison?” I asked, opening the cabinet, finding ribbed glasses and a collection of any kind of liquor she could want.
“Whiskey,” she said, making my brows raise.
“Whiskey?” I clarified.
“What? Because I’m a girl, I have to like wine or margaritas?” she asked. “I mean, I do. But this is a whiskey situation,” she added, shrugging.
I grabbed two glasses with heavy pours and walked over toward one of the couches, putting the drinks down on the coffee table, and waiting for her to do the same.
She paused, reaching behind her back to pull off her apron, then making her way across from me, reaching for her glass, but only cradling it between her hands.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, shaking her head.
“I thought you were protected because of your old man.”
“I usually am,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on. The neighborhood has changed.”
“Power vacuum,” I murmured as I took a sip of my drink.
“Yeah. But then we had someone move in from Philly. Dealing Tranq,” she said, making me wince. “I mean, I’m liberal about some drugs. I’ve never shied away from a joint or some edibles. I even still buy from my dealer even though it’s legal now. And I’m all for mushrooms going legal. They’re killer for helping migraines and some psychological conditions. But the shit that makes your flesh rot off?” she said, doing a little full-body shiver.
“Seen that firsthand, huh?” I asked, grimacing.
“Yeah,” she said, finally raising her drink to take a sip.
“So these guys dealing Tranq, they’re not under your father’s control?” I asked.
From what she said last time, her old man was a crooked as fuck. But in exchange for looking the other way to the actions of certain criminal organizations, he demanded safety for his only child. Even if, from the sound of things, their relationship was strained.