Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Junior swiped his nose and stood, following Farrow. “I’m going to make a quick dash to the bathroom.”
Oliver pulled his chair back and heaved a sigh. “I’ll make sure he behaves.”
“No.” I got up, raising my palm. “He’s past a little spanking. Stay here.” I paused. “And maybe call my lawyer.”
Junior flattened out his tracksuit, muttering incomprehensible things. “Gotta teach this girl a lesson…”
My jaw locked. “Definitely call my lawyer.”
I stalked Brett as he traced Fae’s steps, cracking his neck and knuckles. She entered the main kitchen, oblivious to the men following her.
Brett and I filed inside, watching as she unloaded the plates into an already filled sink.
“Oof.” She planted a hand on the counter and wiped her brow. “What a piece of work.”
“What a piece of ass.” Junior advanced, stopping short of the counter, mere inches from her.
She didn’t look up from the dishes, flipping the faucet on to rinse the plates. “I wouldn’t try anything stupid if I were you.”
“Yeah?” He scooted closer, boiling the blood in my veins to a temperature more suitable for the sun. His sniffing was out of control. “Why’s that?”
“Because I can hit harder.”
“Oh, so you like it rough, do you?”
I watched with painstaking stillness as Junior raised his hands, wiggled those sticky fingers, and stretched them out, aiming for her ass.
He neared his destination, almost rounding the curve between the cheek and those toned legs that moved with graceful skill on the piste.
“Farrow.”
The strain in my own voice surprised me.
Junior’s hand froze midair.
Octi whipped her head around, blinking at me, surprised. “What?”
“Are you squeamish?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I slid my knife out and tossed it right into Brett Junior’s outstretched hand.
“What the fuck?” Brett gawked at his missing fingertip. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?”
Good question.
What the fuck, indeed.
No worries. Nothing to see here.
Just protecting my antidote.
Surely, protection of private property laws will hold up in a court of law.
“Nooo.” He shed fat tears onto his injured hand, holding it up to the light. “Not Palmela Handerson.”
What a shame that my aim never failed me.
I’d hit bullseye. The tip of his middle and index finger. Not enough to cause real damage other than some missing tissue and nerves.
Pity.
A little to the right, and I wouldn’t have to hear him screech.
“What the fuck, bro?” He clutched his wrist, keeling over and firing out an anguished cry. “You fucking sliced me, man. Sliced me!”
I did, and I wish I could do it again.
Junior patted the floor, trying to find his discarded fingertips. They’d splattered onto the tiles like confetti.
Even now, blood gushed from the jagged cavity they’d left behind.
This marked the first time I’d tossed a knife at a target outside the practice range. The first time that I’d hit anything with this particular knife—Dad’s gift to me—ever.
Even though I knew the paperwork was going to be a hassle, I did not regret it.
“What the fuck.” Brett Junior progressed to screaming, stomping in place, staring at the fountain of blood spurting from his fingers.
Guess he decided not to look for his missing organs, after all.
“The fuck is—you fucked with the wrong person. I told you not to get anywhere near her. She’s mine.”
“It was just a friendly squeeze.”
“What a coincidence.” I strolled forward, collected the knife, and waved it before him, pinching the handle. “Just a friendly squeeze. Now your right hand won’t be of much use, even to jerk off to the thought of her.”
“I’m calling the police.”
“And telling them what?” I wiped the blade off on the edge of his shirt and tucked it into its holder. “That you came into my house high off your ass and sexually harassed my staff?”
“I’m losing blood,” he whimpered, stomping out of the kitchen as loud as humanly possible, hugging his wrist to the Gucci emblem on his chest. “Dad! Daddy!”
Finally, I spared a glance at Farrow.
She’d kept quiet the entire time, assessing me in that way of hers that made me worry that she could untangle all my secrets from my façades.
I yawned. “What?”
“You’ve lost control.”
“I’m in perfect control,” I countered. “It’s Brett Junior over here who can’t keep his hands to himself.”
“I’m not yours.” Her baby blues blazed with fury. “Why would you say that to Brett?”
“You will be.”
The truth slipped out without warning or consent from my brain.
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I always get what I want.” I darted my tongue out, swiping it over my lower lip. “And I want you like I’ve never wanted anything in my life.”
If I thought she’d be done for at my unusual confession, I had another thing coming. She wasn’t one of the fangirls.
In fact, my answer seemed to piss her off even more.
She snatched a washcloth that hung over the faucet, cleaning Brett’s blood from the floor. “Was it really worth it?”
I didn’t want her touching anything that came from him, but I stopped myself from yanking the rag out of her fist. I needed to rein in this obsession before it spiraled out of control.