Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I blow out a breath as he guides her into the passenger seat of his tiny dick mobile before I start my bike. It’s not my job to protect her from her own fucking kind. I’m here to keep her safe from our enemies, and that’s what I’ll do.
I keep a healthy distance between my bike and the Maserati and keep my eyes peeled for any potential threats.
We make it to the fancy as fuck restaurant without any problems, and I sit at the bar, taking advantage of the mirrored shelves that allow me to keep Aria in my line of sight without looking like a fucking stalker.
Douchebag talks nonstop, and Aria does her best to appear interested, but even I can tell she’s somewhere else. When the food arrives, she looks almost relieved but she only picks at her meal.
“Sir, this is for you. Compliments of the lady.” A server in a crisp white shirt sets a plate in front of me. There’s a fucking dollop of steak on it with a spoonful of mashed potatoes, along with a few dots of color.
“Oh, thank you,” I say, grinning despite the hefty price tag and tiny portions. Makes sense why people don’t come here to eat. They’d starve.
They come here to be seen by other boring rich motherfuckers like them. It takes me about three minutes to clean the plate, and that little bit of food only makes me hungrier.
With nothing else to occupy my time, I turn back to the bar and watch Aria. She seems to be bored as fuck, but rich people politeness has been drilled into her, and she keeps a fake ass smile on her face, nodding occasionally so douchebag knows she’s listening.
She perks up a little when his hand settles on her thigh, but only to muster up enough energy to swat it away. He puts it back, still droning on and on about something—probably stocks and investments—completely oblivious that Aria isn’t interested in his words or his touch.
My gaze shoots past the boring twosome and all the other tables when I spot a sparkling cherry red low rider in the parking lot. It’s out of place here in a parking lot full of luxury sedans and Teslas, so it catches my attention.
My hand instinctively goes to the piece concealed in the holster under my t-shirt.
The car rolls by slowly, two motherfuckers in the front, and my body tenses the way it did during my time in the military. One moment we’re chilling and shooting the shit, and the next, ready to jump into action. Nothing happens, though.
The car rolls by slowly enough to be seen and leave the same way. I have no idea why they’re here, but I make a mental note to tell Ace about it and turn my focus back to Aria and the douchebag as they prepare to leave.
On the ride home, I keep my head on a swivel in search of that low-rider, but it doesn’t make another appearance, and soon, Aria is safe and sound at home.
With the douchebag.
I stay outside and enjoy the warm night air and oversized moon; grateful Geoffrey Morgan is out again because that guy asks too many fucking questions.
The peace in this rich man’s paradise is unbeatable, and this is when I start to understand the appeal of living around here. Fuck the big houses and tall fences. It’s the peace and quiet in the middle of the city that’s worth the money these houses cost.
I light up a cigarette and inhale. The stress leaves my body as I lean against my bike and gaze up at the sky. The stars twinkle like diamonds, and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve taken the time to appreciate the beauty around me.
But my moment of peace is interrupted by the sound of someone yelling. Aria.
“No! Stop! I said stop!” Without a second thought, I turn and rush inside.
CHAPTER TWO
Aria
“Seriously, Chase,” I exclaim and push him away—or try to. Agreeing to go out with Chase tonight was a monumental mistake. I can’t stand the way he acts.
“Come on, Aria. You know you want this,” he says, his breath reeking of salmon. Gross. “I’m here and ready. You’re here. Let’s see how wet you are for me.”
I push his hand away, but Chase is determined. His grip on my waist tightens, and he leans in even closer.
“Chase, stop,” I say firmly. I’m not feeling this, and I’m definitely not feeling him. But he doesn’t listen. His hand continues to explore, and when I feel his knuckles brush over my dangerously dry pussy, I shout louder. “No! Stop!”
In the blink of an eye, the bedroom door flies open, and there stands Lucky, looking like a beautiful, tattooed fallen angel. His hair is messed up from the helmet, but it looks more like some lucky bitch has been running her hands through it.