Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Ren comes into my office not long later and sits in one of the chairs. He stretches, cracks his knuckles and tilts his head from side to side. “It’s done,” he says.
“They know?”
“They know,” he confirms. “And they’re pissed.”
“Good.” I look over at the window.
“They’re gonna want her, you know. Frost especially. He’s not gonna make this easy. That old asshole stole their money, too.”
I close my eyes and sigh. It would’ve been so much easier if Danny the Con had taken just my money—but instead, he stole an entire armored truck full of cash from three of the largest casinos on the Strip worth over eight million dollars, the score of a lifetime.
“They can wait their turn. I have a plan for her.”
Ren’s eyebrows raise. “You gonna put it to her?”
“No,” I say. “She’s innocent.”
“She’s Danny the Con’s daughter. She’s not innocent.”
“I’m going to have her work off the debt.”
Ren doesn’t move. His eyebrows raise. Then he laughs. “There were nineteen million dollars in that truck. There’s no way in fuck she can earn that kind of money, even if you whored her out to every tourist in town.”
“She won’t be a whore.”
“Then what good is she?” Ren scratches his chin. “I bet Danny taught her some stuff, but—”
“She can paint.”
Ren takes that in. I let it linger in the room. I’ve found that saying less is always more. Let other people fill in the gaps with their own ideas and misconceptions; the way they respond can say a lot about who they are as a person and what they value most.
“Like that ugly crap at the store?”
“Better than that. She can really paint.”
“I don’t see how that can earn money.”
“You will.” I check my watch. “She’ll be up soon. Go check on the doc and tell him I want to be there when she comes to.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Your call.” Ren gets to his feet. He frowns at me, shaking his head. “Fucking painting? You lost me there, man.”
My best friend is a simple man. He cares about money, about sex, about loyalty. He’s strong, aggressive, ruthless, clever in some ways, but he thinks too small.
When Hellie wakes up, I’ll show my little devil girl how big I can think, and how she’s going to save her own life.
Chapter 3
Hellie
I wake up in a bed.
It’s a big, comfortable bed, with soft sheets and luxurious pillows, and I’m pretty delirious as I try to make sense of my surroundings. An older man’s sitting near me, checking my eyes, talking to me through the haze. I try talking back, but it’s like clearing cotton from my brain.
“You were given propofol, it’s a common drug in surgeries. Recovery is quick and it should leave your system soon. Please, don’t try to get out of bed for a while.”
“Who are you?”
But the older man’s already getting up. He snaps closed a doctor’s bag and walks to the door, glancing back at me with a sympathetic smile. “Good luck, Heloise.”
He leaves, shutting the door behind him with a click.
I groan, try to sit up, but my head swims. It takes all my willpower just to stay still and stare at the ceiling as I try to recount how I ended up in this place.
The room’s beautiful. Like something from a modernist painting. Clean lines, expensive furniture, thick rugs, and an actual fireplace. Windows overlook something, I can’t tell, I only see black sky. It’s still night, which means I haven’t been out too long.
I remember Erick. I remember running, getting pinned to the ground, the needle—
Then nothing.
I have no idea where I am.
Fear swims into my mind. It’s muted and distant, held at bay by the drugs still swirling in my brain, but with each passing moment, more of my strength comes back.
Along with my determination to get out of here.
Just like Dad said, don’t make it easy. Just keep running.
He’s been running from trouble his whole life; he should know how to keep one step ahead.
I push myself up, swing my legs over, and stumble to my feet. My eyesight swims and I nearly lose my balance, but I steady myself, wait until the dizziness passes, then I stumble to the door. I’m trying to remember how a knob works when it turns on its own and I’m forced backwards as Erick steps into the room.
He stares down at me. I’m struck again by his sheer sexual masculinity. The man’s a specimen, oozing strength and intensity, doing nothing but looking at me like he wants to pick me to pieces for his own pleasure. His rugged beard, his tattooed hands, the small scar on his right jaw under his ear all suggest a hard life, one filled with pain and violence.
But it’s his eyes that hold me. Those dark pools, liquid and expressive. He says nothing, but he still speaks to me by the way his body angles in my direction, by the way his gaze drags from my lips to my chest to my legs and back up again. He seems happy with what he finds.