Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Things were progressing nicely for me. Flora, the owner of the village’s most popular café, had contacted me and asked if I’d be interested in baking cakes and pastries for her to sell every Saturday. She said she’d advertise my name. It was a no-brainer. Of course I said yes. We’d discussed what treats she was interested in selling, and I made plans on how to prepare everything in time to deliver early Saturday morning.
When my car didn’t show up halfway through the week, though, I found Walker at work and he’d told me the garage had to order in a part so it might be another few days. Feeling agitated about the growing cost of this fix, I wanted to argue with him, but he made an excuse to depart and that was that. He was being extra icy around me lately. I’d apologized, so I didn’t know what else I could do. Walker hadn’t seemed to me the kind of person who held a grudge, but I didn’t know him all that well.
Friday came around, and I was brimming with anticipation. Regan was taking Callie to tae kwon do after school, which meant I could get home and finish up Flora’s orders. I’d already started prep at the crack of dawn and was trying not to yawn my way through work.
When I let myself into Byron Hoffman’s room, I was a lot more relaxed than I had been. I hadn’t seen the asshole all week, and Mrs. Hutchinson told me he was leaving tomorrow. The weekend housekeeping would give it a thorough clean upon his departure for the next guest.
Mind on my cake and pastry plans for the night, I cleaned his room on autopilot. I’d just pulled the sheets off the bed, bundled them in my arms, and was heading toward the cart I’d left outside when the bedroom door opened.
My heart jolted in my chest as I halted.
Hoffman stepped into the room and closed the door, leaning against it.
Fear rooted me to the spot as my instinct screamed the opposite.
Run.
He raked his eyes over me, nothing behind them except what he wanted.
I cleared the terror from my throat and said as forcefully as possible, “Mr. Hoffman, let me by.”
His lips curled at the corners. “We both know these doors automatically lock once closed. There are no cameras in here. There’s no one but you and me.”
Nausea rose in my gut as my breathing grew shallow. “Let me out.”
“I’ve seen the looks you give me.” He took a step closer and I retreated, dropping the laundry. My eyes darted around the room, searching for escape, searching for a weapon. “You can’t look at a man like that and then not follow through.”
My attention whipped back to him, and I sneered. “You’re delusional if you think for one second I want anything to do with you.”
He bridged the distance between us and slapped my face so fast, I didn’t have time to avoid it.
An explosion of light filled my vision as hot pain radiated across my cheek and down my shoulder. Discombobulated, it took me a second to realize I’d fallen against the bedpost before hitting the floor.
“On your back, just as you should be.”
I blinked, clearing my vision to find Hoffman towering over me.
Unbuckling his trousers.
Rage and stunned horror tore through me.
This was not happening.
Not today. Not ever.
As he got to his knees, I drew mine back and slammed my feet into his chest with every ounce of strength within me. He cursed as I shoved him and scrambled to my feet. There was no space to pass him. He’d grab me.
“Fucking bitch!”
I crawled onto the bed, almost across, when a hand clamped down on my calf.
I screamed for help over and over as his nails dug into my leg, and I clawed at the bed for purchase, trying to pull away. But then he was over me, his hand on my head, crushing me into the mattress so I could barely breathe, much less shout. Panic suffused my entire being and I flailed helplessly, my mind split between trying to breathe, trying to free myself, and trying not to think about the hard body holding me down, the hands tearing at the waistband of my pants.
Black spots covered my vision.
Then there was a muffled bang.
A roar of fury.
The crushing weight disappeared, and I lifted my head, air rushing into my lungs as I panted. My vision cleared.
Two men grappled with Hoffman.
Walker.
I was safe.
Relief drained me, and I sagged against the mattress as I watched Walker and the other man pin Hoffman to the floor. Walker’s face was a mask of icy rage as he asked his companion if he had a firm hold on him.
“I’ve got the fucker,” the man snarled with a nod.
Recognition hit me.
The other man was a club member.