Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
But I don’t want to.
I am sick of it.
Sick of everything right now.
Putting the full bottle to my lips, I drink down more—way more than I should.
The knocking stops, and when it does, I get up and find myself another bottle of wine and start on that one too. That’s when the knocking comes again. Walking over to the door, I pull it open to find Atlas standing there. I blink a few times to make sure as my vision is hazy.
He is a hard man to not see. I mean, with all those hard edges, I bet my tongue could lick them all and keep exploring.
“Edges?” Atlas asks.
Fuck! I shake my head as I lock my eyes on him. Did I just say that out loud?
“Do you have two nose rings, or am I seeing double?” I ask.
He looks down to the wine in my hand and steps forward, taking it from me. “How much of this have you had?” he asks as if he has some sort of right to know.
“It for sure looks like two bottles.” I go to touch his nose rings, ignoring him, and he swats my hand away. “Theadora.”
“One…” I point without touching, “… two.” I nod my head. “Okay, you have two. Why don’t you wear both all the time? They look good,” I tell him with a smile.
Atlas rolls up his sleeves, and I see his tattooed arms.
“Holy shit! Now that’s some ink. Where else is it?” I ask, stepping forward, ready to lift his shirt when he blocks me. Atlas steps into my house and walks straight past me. He heads to my kitchen, and I follow him as he enters like he owns it. My eyes drop to his gorgeous ass, and I am way too busy staring while he’s poured me a drink of water and hands it to me.
“Get dressed. But first, drink this.”
I look down at the old shirt I am wearing—which is just that, a shirt—and smile as I reach for the water. Taking a large sip, I drink it all, handing him back the empty glass.
“Get dressed, Theadora,” he instructs.
I walk past him to my bedroom and quickly find a dress—that isn’t worth a few thousand dollars—and slip it over my shoulders so it falls down my thighs before I reach for my cell and walk back out.
“Dressed,” I say with a smile, then a twirl. My shoes are in my hand, and he reaches for them, taking them and bending down to put them on my feet. His hand touches my ankle, and an intake of breath happens so fast at his electric touch, I’m close to asking him to move those hands, but instead he does one shoe up carefully. When he’s strapped the first, his hand slides just a fraction, quickly releasing, before he goes to the next and repeats. When he looks up at me, I shut my gaping mouth. He just shakes his head and walks out the door. “In the car.”
I roll my eyes at his bossy words but follow, getting in beside him. The car takes off, and I sit back and close my eyes, trying to sober up and remove the thoughts of his touch, which are still scorching my skin.
“You drank way too much.” His voice is between a whisper and a shout but not gentle enough to be normal.
“Yes, Father.”
“If you were my child you would be over my knee.”
My heart rate picks up at his tone of voice. “That can be arranged.” I forgot to mention I’m a whore when drunk. And let’s face it, Atlas is the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.
“Did you just…” He shakes his head and looks out the window. “You sound like your sister right now,” he says with a wave of disappointment. Well, at least I think that’s what it is, from what I can tell.
“Same mother, different fathers, will do that to you,” I tell him truthfully.
“How did you turn out like this, and she like…” He doesn’t finish that sentence, but it still makes me angry.
I shrug. “Lucy feels everything and wants everything. She has a self-entitlement about her.” My head starts to spin as the car comes to a stop at a warehouse. I can feel his eyes on me, but I choose not to look his way as I open the door, needing fresh air urgently. Stepping out, my heel slips on something wet and sticky. So I look down, and when the blur fades, I follow the dark puddle. It belongs to the politician who touched my leg and called me a whore. The wet substance on the floor is his blood.
A scream rips through me as I stumble back, trying to escape.
Chapter Thirteen
Theadora
I feel like I should give a tutorial on how to get sober really quickly.