Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Zachary wasn't a rapist. He was just a ball-less queef in the fucking way.
He shifted to face the queef. “She the only pussy you're banging?
“Yeah, why?”
He thrust his chin at a flock of ladies who had just walked in. “Want to stick your dick in a real woman? With the lights on?”
Zachary's dark eyebrows rose beneath the falling strands of his hair. “Seriously?”
What a cunt. “Follow my lead.” He pivoted on the stool toward the women and let his thighs fall subtly apart, knowing the stretch in his jeans cupped his junk just right. He leaned his elbows on the bar top behind him and gnawed on the toothpick.
Four pairs of eyes looked his way. He blanked his expression in a portrait of indifference, his eyes roaming the group as a whole with little commitment.
Like a pack of hungry Chihuahuas, they scampered as one in his direction. A stagger of Hi's came next, followed by flushed cheeks, cleared throats, and smoldering stares.
Time to put them out of their misery. “I'm gay.”
A chorus of whiny Oooooh's blubbered out.
He chuckled. “I know the feeling. This guy here” —he squeezed Zachary's neck, probably with more force than was necessary— “turned me down. I saw his cock in the men's room. Un-fucking-real, ladies. Have fun with it.” He dropped a wad of cash on the counter, patted Zachary on the back, and gamboled to the door.
He moved the Mustang a few parking spots down from Zachary's truck and set up his camera. Forty-five minutes later, the two-timing prick strolled out of the bar with one of the girls under his arm and his tongue down her throat. Took the fucker long enough to snag a girl.
Camera raised, Van clicked away from his shadowed position in the Mustang. Zachary pressed her against the passenger door of the truck, one hand fumbling for his keys, the other shoved up her skirt.
Click. Click. Click.
Van's lungs expanded to their fullest with each deep, satisfied breath. Damn straight, he was smug. Not only did he restrain himself from gutting the guy, but also he did Amber a favor. She might not have cared who Zachary was fucking—especially given her willingness to fuck him a couple days ago—but he'd read agoraphobics didn't just cling to their homes. They attached themselves to people, too. At the moment, there was only one person she could've been attached to.
Zachary pushed the girl onto her back across the truck's seat. Without bothering to close the door, he proceeded to eat her face then her cunt beneath the glow of the streetlight.
After a few more clicks, Van set the camera down and lit a cigarette. Tomorrow, Amber wouldn't have a choice when she cut ties with Zachary Kaufman. But he needed her to be convincing when she did it.
Ordering groceries online was a Tuesday morning task, an item to check off a list. But as Amber squinted at her online bank account balance, she knew her routine was about to change. A tic twitched in her eyelid. Everything her sanity depended on required electricity or water. The vacuum, treadmill, shower, laundry, online groups...
She tucked her hands beneath her armpits and hugged herself, burrowing into the couch as the weight of her situation pushed air from her chest.
This fear was different from what she was used to. When she'd stepped outside, the paralysis, suffocation, and loss of body control was a physical, heart-rate-in-the-red-zone kind of fear. But the horror of losing her connectedness—to her house, her schedule, her courier and lover—made her feel breathless, empty, and lost, like a non-person.
Who would she be without order and routine? If not a beauty contestant or a neat freak, then what? A hollow husk in a padded room like her mother?
But the most tangible threat was losing her house. Foreclosure meant she would have to leave. She'd have to go outside. She'd rather die.
She closed the laptop. She didn't need groceries anyway. There would be no cooking and no refrigeration when the electricity shut off. The city had already turned off her water service that morning.
The clocks on the wall told her she had fifteen minutes before Zach's arrival. He would ship all her packages and, in a few days, she'd receive her payments and get the utilities back on. Until next month.
She stared at nothing for a long moment, searching inside herself for an answer, a reaction, something, but all she found was the absence of value and meaning.
She set her phone and laptop on the coffee table, lining them up in right-angles, and trudged toward the hall to prepare for Zach. As she reached the bedroom doorway, the hairs on her nape lifted. She paused. Something felt...off.
A click echoed from the front room, followed by a creak in the floor. A shriek crawled up her throat, and she snapped her mouth shut, listening without breathing, heart thundering. Was someone in the house? How was that possible?