Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I froze. Cantor? No, he wouldn’t have a key for the elevator. I took a sip of water, hoping whoever it was would go away. The person knocked again, louder this time. I put down the water bottle and moved toward the door. The lock turned before I got there, and the padlock too.
Shit, shit, someone was breaking into my apartment. I ran for the kitchen, gunning for my phone as the door opened and shut. The intruder grabbed me before I could reach it, and plastered a hand over my mouth.
“Don’t scream,” said a voice against my ear.
I knew that voice. I knew the body, the height, the strength, the scent of his cologne. I knew the scratch of his stubble against my jaw and the feel of his hand over my mouth. He’d stifled me that way so many times. I lifted my eyes and looked into the mirror across my apartment and saw him behind me, holding me.
I couldn’t believe for a moment that it was him, but his body curved around mine the way it used to. He looked the same, like he’d left the note for me just last week. Good luck, starshine. His eyes were half closed in the dim light. He took a slow breath.
“Jesus,” he said. “Chere.”
He was here. He was in my apartment.
Two and a half years. It had been two and a half years.
Motherfucker.
I started to struggle, snarling and yanking at his hand. He moved his fingers up to cover my nose. Motherfucker. Not today. I drove my elbow into his ribs and was rewarded with a grunt. He released me and I spun on him. I didn’t understand why he was here. I didn’t understand his dark expression. All I understood was that W was in my apartment after two and a half years.
I flew at him, to hurt him, not embrace him. “Motherfucker,” I cried, my voice breaking. “Tell me your fucking name.”
Price
I’d followed her and Cantor in the heat of anger, after I saw them leave Valiant together. If she’d brought him up here, I would have kicked his ass and thrown him out. It was her apartment, but it was also my apartment and he wasn’t allowed in it because he was a soul-dead, manipulative user.
I hadn’t come here to bring her back into my life. That was what I told myself, that I was only here to warn her about Cantor, but as soon as I touched her, my will and anger disintegrated into need.
She was so beautiful, so much more beautiful than I remembered. As soon as my body aligned to hers, I lost it. I lost words, lost action, lost intention, everything. I couldn’t move or loosen my grip on her, even when she started to shake.
I was surprised by her elbow to my ribs, or I wouldn’t have let her go. She came at me, furious, which I totally understood.
Chere, sweet Chere. I love that you’re a fighter.
I let her light into me before I lit into her, because she was going to get what was coming to her either way. She’d been a bad girl. She was supposed to be taking care of herself, protecting herself, and she’d left Studio Valiant with fucking Cantor.
“Tell me your name,” she demanded as she punched me in the chest.
I grabbed her wrists after she landed a few blows. “Is he coming back?” I asked. “Is Cantor coming back here?”
“None of your fucking business.” She pushed away from me, panting for air. She was flushed and beautiful and raging, her freckles standing out against her bronze skin. Her hair was a mess. She ran her fingers through it and glared at me.
“What are you doing here?” she shrieked. “Were you following us? Have you had a key all this time?”
“Of course I’ve had a key.” I glared back at her. She was so close. Right there. I wanted to kiss her but she was too furious, and so was I. “Thank God I had a key, you little fuck up, because you’re on the brink of making a terrible mistake.”
“It’s been two and a half years,” she yelled. “You left. You went away. I don’t understand why you’re here!”
“I’m here because you need to stay the fuck away from Cantor. He’s a bastard. You’re too good for him.”
She drew up taut, her hands in fists. “What business is it of yours, if I hang out with him or anyone else? You disappeared from my life two and a half years ago. You didn’t even bother to say goodbye.”
“What did the two of you talk about?” I pressed. “Are you fucking him?”
“Why do you care?”
“Are you fucking him?” I shouted over her.
“Yes,” she screamed back. “We fuck like crazy every chance we get. He fucks me in every fucking hole. He makes me come harder than you ever did.”