Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Fuck, it’s a gun.
He slips it out and holds it close as he goes towards the sound. Summer’s room, I assume. He's so focused that he doesn't hear me come up behind him.
I tap him on the shoulder. “I think they're busy.”
“Who?” He whirls in surprise, but before he gets his gun around I shut him the fuck up with a fist to his face.
Watching him get knocked on his fucking ass like a beetle, all arms and legs waving around, is a beautiful thing. Before he can recover, I stomp his hand and kick the gun out of reach. “Not today, motherfucker.”
Grayson scrambles for it, but I give him a solid kick to the ribs. “Who do you think you are?” he growls, finally realizing what deep shit he’s in. He doesn’t bother standing up, throwing himself at my knees instead and taking us both down.
“Don’t you recognize me? I’m hurt, man.”
“What are you talking about? I would never associate with people like you.” He's faster than I expect, but I dodge and spring to my feet.
“Tell it to someone who doesn’t know you, Timmy.” It’s fun to taunt him, but I look nothing like I did back in the day. Back then, I kept myself clean cut and respectable. The kind of young man people would trust implicitly.
Not a rough, tattooed biker who gave up on looking pretty a long fucking time ago.
His eyes narrow just a touch when I say his old alias, but he’s been in the game for long enough to not give it away so easily. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave. My fiancé has been through enough this past week.”
“Isn’t it about time for you to take the money and run? Summer’s not your speed. She’s too fucking good for this place, and especially for you.” Just on cue, a throaty feminine moan comes from behind the door.
“If you actually care about her, you’ll let me stop whatever is happening in there,” Grayson growls.
“Aw, does it bother you to know that someone’s showing her a better time than you can? That even if she agreed to marry you, she’d always know just what a limpdicked little weasel you are.” I crack my knuckles and grin at him. “Test me, Timmy boy. I’ve been itching to fuck something up.”
“Stop fucking calling me that!” He’s losing his cool. Good.
“Such language.”
His eyes dart towards the gun on the floor, and I take a step to put myself between him and it. “Don't even think about it. That's my brother in there, and I'm not letting you fuck this up.”
“Your brother?” He says brother like he's spitting out venom. “I'm going to kill you, and then I'll go in there and blow his damn brains out too. This is private property. Nobody would even blink at me defending Miss Hale in her own home from the criminals who already took her once.”
“Oh, that’s cute, Timmy. We’ll be taking her a lot more than once, though.” I grin and grab my crotch just so there are no misunderstandings.
He swings, but telegraphs it from a mile away. I block easily and drive my fist into his gut. His pained grunt widens my grin, but when I try to follow up, he spins out of the way and manages to land a solid jab into my side.
I hiss through my teeth and dance away. “Been a while, I see. You punch like a little boy. Fucking love taps. You’re getting soft.”
He snarls and kicks for my shin. Fuck, he's fast. I get out of the way, barely in time, and then we're circling each other again. And in the background, I hear Crash and Summer, and the squeak of a bed frame.
Grayson grabs a vase off a little end table and throws it at my head. I snag it out of the air and put it down gently. “We don't wanna disturb them, do we?” His eyes flash in fury at my words.
And then he's on me. “I'm going to fucking break you,” he snarls. “You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”
“Oh, I know better than anyone else here.” I snap a kick at his leg, realizing my mistake as soon as he drops to the floor and the gun’s in his hand.
Fuck.
He tries to point it, but I get my hand around his wrist and wrench it upwards. He's too focused on the weapon, and I slam my forearm into his neck before he pulls the trigger. The gun explodes like a fucking cannon, right next to my ear. Fuck, that’s going to be ringing the rest of the day.
Plaster rains down on both of us. He shakes his head like he wasn’t really expecting it to be that loud. Pussy.