Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
He shuts his eyes again, sighs, and then opening them he says in an authoritative voice, “Kitten, you can either get up and walk up those stairs or I can carry you. I don't care either way, but you’re going up to my place to wait!”
I lean my head back against the doorframe and shake my head from side to side. There is nothing in me that says going to his place is a good idea. The way he orders me around is irritating, yet I seem to like that someone actually gives a shit. I’m the poster child of daddy issues.
“Now, Kitten!” Clenching my jaw, I take the hand he still has extended out.
Entering Linc's condo, I am blown away at how beautiful it is. My mouth drops open taking it all in. The entryway floor is blue marble; the living room and hallway are all done in dark hardwood flooring. A gas fireplace is in the corner of the living room, with a large antique area rug covering the hardwood floor in the living room.
“You coming?” Linc hollers at me from a doorway down the hallway, breaking my trance.
“Uh, yeah. Your place is beautiful,” I admire, heading toward him still looking around wide-eyed, my mouth agape.
“Thank you,” he replies, waiting for me. I follow him through the doorway and find we are in the kitchen, which is no less amazing than the living room. Again, marble floors and countertops, all solid wood cabinets, stainless steel appliances and fixtures. Motioning to the kitchen table, he orders, “Sit.” I do, on one of the wooden chairs at the large rectangular table he has pointed to, as he heads around the center island to the refrigerator. I watch as he gets out bread, Gouda cheese, and butter, and places them all on a counter by an expensive-looking, stainless steel gas range. He gets a pan down, putting it on a burner he lit on the stove.
Cutting the bread and cheese, he butters the bread then places it in the pan. Ten minutes later he brings two plates to the table, setting one in front of me.
“What would you like to drink?” he asks, going to the refrigerator.
“One of the beers you took from my place would be great,” I mutter. He turns around and glares at me, his eyes full of anger. Shit. “I've had a crappy day, give me a break,” I defend, lowering my head, rubbing my forehead with my hand.
“I can see that,” he remarks, the anger leaving his eyes as he turns back around, heading to the refrigerator again. Looks like he is capable of having an emotion rather than anger all the time. Returning to the table, he hands me a soda and opens a beer for himself. Asshole. “Why don't you tell me about it,” he urges. I’d rather not, but I know if I don’t, he is just going to keep pressing.
“Something just got out of hand, things were said, feelings were hurt, I was slapped,” I ramble, trailing off during the last part. “But a deal was reached and it’s all good now,” I finish in a normal tone and a shrug.
“Well, if it’s all been worked out, then there is no reason you can't tell me about it,” he says nonchalantly, taking a bite of his grilled cheese.
“Linc, that's not a good idea, the less you know about my business, the better. In fact, I don't want anyone I deal with to even know I know you.” Linc puts his sandwich down on his plate and looks at me with quirked eyebrows. I roll my eyes and explain. “Cool your ego, hot biker guy, it’s just...sometimes, like today, things can get crazy and if shit blows up in my face, I don't want some asshole taking their revenge out on me by messing with you and the club. That's why I work alone.”
Linc nods, his face void of emotion as he points to the sandwich in front of me, and says, “Eat your sandwich, Kitten.”
“Stop calling me that,” I groan.
16
LINCOLN
This is what I’ve been trained for, keeping my cool, showing no emotions, getting the information I need without them knowing they are giving it. I only use it when I need to, otherwise, I’m pretty much well-known for being an asshole. I can read people by their body language: the way they carry themselves, how they talk, their eye contact. I know what they’re thinking. I know what they’re feeling. I know within a few minutes in an interrogation how to handle my witness—do I need to be good cop, bad cop, act sympathetic, become their friend. Whatever it takes, I'll play the part and I always get what I want. But Kitten has me scrambling. I can't keep my emotions out of it. I want to kill whoever hurt her. I just want to pull out my gun and blow their fucking head off. She won't tell me, making it sound like it's for my protection. It makes me want to shake her, spank the shit out of her, fuck her, hold her, and kiss her senseless all at the same time. She nibbles at her sandwich before putting her head down and saying, “I'm sorry. It's really good, I'm just not hungry.”