Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Who’s what?”
“Your boyfriend?”
It takes everything I have not to retreat another step when he moves closer. I know he’s doing it to intimidate me. He’s so close that I can feel his pelvis pressing against my hip, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. “Why’s it any of your business? And you’re crowding me. Get away.” I shove at him with my stump. “We need to get going—”
“You a virgin, Scarface?” He leans in, his eyes glittering with fascination.
I try to step aside, but he grabs the front of my dress, holding a fistful of it and not letting me get away. I notice, a little unnerved, that he’s grabbing it with a bare hand. He’s not supposed to do that. He’s supposed to wear gloves because he’s not supposed to touch me or my clothing. It’s something to do with scents.
Oddly enough, I think of the dragon and how his nostrils flared.
“Let me go,” I say, my voice surprisingly calm. “You can’t touch me.”
“Looks like I am,” Brady says, twisting his fingers tighter in my dress, ensuring I can’t move away. Not without ripping the fabric. “I mean, there’s a lot of stuff going on that’s not supposed to be happening, right? What’s one more little secret?” He gives me a cold smile. “We both know you’re not talking. I’m not talking. So what’s the problem here?”
He’s making me more nervous by the moment. I try to push away, but my bicycle is tangled at my feet and his grip tightens, the fabric straining. How am I going to explain a ripped dress when I get back? If they find out someone touched me, will they boot me and Brady both?
I glare at him, pushing at his hand. “Let me go,” I repeat, trying to sound as firm as possible. “You’re in my face.”
“You still aren’t telling me who your boyfriend is, Scarface,” Brady says, oh-so casual. “One might think he doesn’t exist. I bet you’re a virgin, aren’t you? I bet no one has looked past that ugly mug of yours to think about the fact that your snatch is probably tighter than a fist.” He grins, and it’s so, so ugly. “I bet if I shoved my dick in there, I’d have to work you over hard just to get it in there, you’re so tight.”
I recoil in shock. “W-what?”
“See, I watch you, Scarface.” He eyes me closely, and then shudders. “That mug of yours is fucking hideous, and I’m not a fan of the stump. And I think to myself, if there’s any virgin ass to be had in the fort, it must be pretty damn ugly.” He gives me a speculative look. “And then I thought about you.”
I try to jerk away from him. He’s not wrong. I am a virgin, and I’m sure it has a lot to do with my face and arm…as well as my manner. I’ve never welcomed anyone, and I’m generally prickly to all. I keep to myself, and most guys that get aggressive with girls go for more attractive ones. Being ugly has actually been useful in an apocalypse.
Up until now, of course.
“Fuck off,” I tell him bravely, trying to pry his fingers out of my clothes. “You’re wrong. About everything.”
“I don’t think so.” Brady smirks at me, leaning in, and I recoil once more. “You’re blushing like a virgin, and I know you don’t do Saturday nights like the other girls. It’s ’cause you’re so fucking ugly. But me, Scarface? I’m not all that picky. I can just flip you over and look at the back of your head instead of those scars.” He gives me a wide smile. “And there’s nothing sweeter than virgin pussy. Even if the face it’s attached to is hideous.” He reaches out with his free hand and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. “If you don’t tell, I won’t tell. We’ll just add it to our list of secrets.”
I jerk away from him—or try to. “I don’t want to share secrets with you.”
“You should have thought of that before yesterday then, huh?” He leers at me, and grabs my jaw tighter.
I slap at him with my free hand, but he bats it away easily. He grabs my arm and with a wild grin, forces my arms behind my back and kicks at my knee. Within moments, he has me bent over the side of the car, the hood digging into my stomach. I fight against him, but it’s no use. He’s bigger and stronger and he’s got two hands. I’ve never regretted the loss of my hand as much as I have right now. Most days I live with it and get by using my stump. But right now, I want to claw his eyes out and I can’t.