Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Recognition flares in her eyes as she notices Naz at my side. A healthy dose of fear parades across her face.
Does everyone in this city know him on sight?
God, probably. His picture has been plastered all over the papers for as long as I can remember. He's more talked about around here than most celebrities, as notorious as the most reckless and wild of them. Only, the respect he's earned is the kind most people don't want—the kind we reserve for the boogeyman, for the childish flights of fancy that enthrall and fascinate us even as they terrify us.
We tiptoe to the closet and peer in, both terrified and full of awe, praying we don't wake the beast slumbering within…but desperate to see if he's really in there anyway. We want to glimpse him, even as we're afraid of casting our eyes upon him. We respect him and his boundaries because we know that if we don't, he'll destroy us. Gobble us up like those little pigs in a straw house.
That's Naz. The monster in the closet. The big, bad wolf.
And he has his fingers laced through mine, stroking my thumb as if we're just some ordinary couple, here to pick out something to read together.
I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I can't stop. And yet…I can't. Every moment I spend with him binds me more tightly to him. I'm prey, tangled in the web of a hunting spider. And somewhere along the way, I think I stopped struggling. I gave in to the inevitable, waiting for his poison to infect me. Quivering in anticipation of his strike.
He catches my gaze, winking as he flips the sign over the door to closed. The cashier watches him do it, not saying a word. Stop Nazario Leyva? She wouldn't dare.
But I'm not her. And for some reason, this wicked man has let me see beneath the monstrous scales he presents to the world. There's more to him than just the monster. He's not just the cocaine prince. He's…Naz. And I think that man is as conflicted and disoriented by the connection growing between us as I am. He's just as human as I am. He just hides it better.
"Naz," I mutter, frowning in disapproval. "You can't just close the store because you're here."
"I'm not, princesa." His striking eyes meet mine. "I'm closing it because you are."
My heart flutters at his casual sincerity, even though it shouldn't.
"They have a business to run," I protest.
"All will be well, mi alma." He cups my cheek, his fingertips gentle as they feather across my cheekbone. "I'll ensure the store doesn't suffer for the privacy I carve out for you." His lips brush the shell of my ear. "You don't want your father to find out about us. I'm trying to ensure I follow your rules."
My father. It's a grim reminder of exactly what's at stake here, of exactly what I'm risking. I made a promise. I've spent the last four days wrestling with myself, trying like hell to convince myself to keep it. And as soon as Naz appeared, all of that inner turmoil meant exactly nothing. Precisely like I feared it would.
This man is dangerous to everything I'm trying to build for myself, exactly like I knew he would be. And yet, I'm here anyway, allowing him to pull me deeper into the store, my hand laced in his. And yet…I still taste the sin of his kiss, feel the electric heat of his hands on my body, and I want more. Crave it in a way I've never craved anything except freedom.
"You said I could ask you anything," I say, peering up at him as we stroll deeper into the store, away from the prying eyes of the cashier. "Did you mean it?"
He glances down at me, amusement painted across his handsome face. "Lying to you isn't one of my sins, Brynna."
"Oh, sure," I mutter, rolling my eyes at him as I set my book back on the shelf. "He murders and maims, but he has a moral objection to lying."
"No." His lips twitch. "I'll murder, maim, and lie like a motherfucker if necessary. I said lying to you isn't one of my sins. I don't lie to you."
I reach out, tugging a random book from the shelf in front of us, processing. "Why not?"
"I want your trust," he murmurs. "You'll never give it to me if you doubt every word I say. You've been lied to so much in your life that trust is hard enough to come by without me getting in my own way here."
"How do you know I've been lied to?" I flip through random pages, not really paying attention, but trying to avoid meeting his gaze. Mostly because he's right, and I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it. The fact that he knows me so well is…unnerving.