Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Submissive?”
“Maybe. Probably. But you don’t know if you don’t try. So here’s my advice: if you spank her and she comes up biting your head off, then probably not and you should stop immediately. But…if you try and she doesn’t? If she melts? It just might make her pliable enough to be honest. Worth a shot, anyway.”
“Hell, at this point, I’m willing to try anything.”
Trees clapped him on the back. “You just might be surprised. And if I’m right, a bunch of my equipment is down there. You can thank me later.”
Zy yanked his phone from his back pocket and settled it on the counter. “I know I’m running out of time. If the bosses call, stall them. But I don’t want to be disturbed. I’m not coming out of that fucking bunker again until I have answers.”
Trees gave his pal a last supportive clap on the back. As Zy descended again, he headed back into the kitchen with a sigh. He was fucking tired, and he needed another cup of coffee if he was going to outline Tessa’s guilt and finish ripping out Zy’s heart.
He poured a mug from the lukewarm pot and shoved it in the nuker. As it reheated, he made his way to Laila’s room. The stupid, impulsive part of him wanted to wake her and insist he wasn’t EM Security’s mole and he’d never put her family in danger.
But it was pointless. So far, he had only circumstantial evidence, not proof. To fully trust him, Laila would need that. She deserved it.
When he reached the bedroom, he eased the door open. Like before, she lay on her side, burrowed under the blankets—except her wrist, attached to the bedpost. At some point, she had buried her face under a pillow to block out the bright lights overhead. She must be exhausted, and she looked uncomfortable.
Damn it.
Trees tried to stifle his guilt. Since Laila had run away one too many times, he was forced to cuff her to keep her here and safe.
The self-pep-talk was bullshit. Laila had been held against her will for years. Did the fact he was doing it for different reasons really matter? She was still a captive.
But what fucking choice did he have? It was dangerous out there, and if Victor Ramos or any of Emilo’s men found her again, she’d never leave their captivity alive.
Cursing, he stomped to the office, grabbed a trio of items, then returned to deposit them on the dresser. Another errand across the house sent him into his hidden room under the master. He’d built it as a panic room…but he’d decked it out as a private dungeon. It hadn’t been finished long enough for him to put it to good use, but he’d outfitted the place first class, eagerly waiting for the moment he found the right woman to bring here. The notion of using his new equipment on Laila messed with his head. He fantasized about bringing her here and putting her at his tender mercy for their mutual pleasure.
It’s not happening, dude.
Trees grabbed what he’d come for, locked up, then dashed back to Laila. In three minutes, he had batteries in the electric candles Madison had given him for Christmas, their golden beams putting out soft ambient light.
Then he returned to Laila’s side. She hadn’t moved. Carefully, he unshackled her wrist and removed the cuff with the short chain, replacing it with one that stretched two feet.
Gently, he rolled Laila to her back, displacing the pillow from over her eyes. Trees didn’t mean to stare, but every time he set eyes on her, she did something to him. Her curls were like a halo around her shoulders. Her graceful neck gave way to a firm jaw, a stubborn chin, and a pouty mouth that made him sweat. Her long lashes brushed her soft cheeks below delicately arched brows.
He’d had sex with her three days ago. Since then, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her. Of course he wanted her underneath him again, but what he felt was more than sex. He wanted to protect her, help her, give her a better life. He wanted to be a better man so she would believe a good one existed.
Yeah, he was probably in love.
And if he wanted to prove he hadn’t double-crossed her beyond any shadow of doubt, he needed to get to work. He also probably needed to stop hoping she would ever have real feelings for him. Every time he’d touched her, she had allowed it because she had an ulterior motive, not because she’d wanted him. He needed to remember that and keep his head screwed on straight.
Trees tore out of the room, flipping off the overhead light, leaving the soft glow of the candles to ward off the dark. Back in the kitchen, his coffee, still sitting in the microwave, had gone lukewarm again. He didn’t give a shit at this point. It was caffeine. He needed to choke it down and be productive.