Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
He frowns, and his body softens, as if he’s relaxing. “Of course I don’t want you to be scared of me.”
I’m shocked by my mental revelation. Desire. Is that what this buzzing inside me is? No. Surely not. He celebrated his thirty-fifth birthday months ago. And how did he celebrate? He took off to a fancy hotel and bought himself a mountain of cocaine and a few hookers. That is not the kind of man I should feel anything for but contempt. I was so disappointed in him, which is really bloody ridiculous. Who am I, a twenty-one-year-old woman, to be disappointed in a mass-murdering member of the mafia? He’s attractive. God, he’s attractive. Well-built, strong, loyal. Apparently quite funny, too, although I’ve never seen that side of him. But he’s also a lot older than I am. I don’t even know what the hell it is that’s drawing me toward him. I frown to myself. Because he saved me? Give me a bloody break. I am no damsel in distress, and he is no knight in shining armor. I flinch again.
I was a damsel in distress. I needed help. I needed saving, and he was so kind. So handsome. But he didn’t accept my gratitude. He ignored my thank-you. I don’t know what the hell I’ve done wrong, but he’s made it easy to dislike him. Ignore him. But this weird flutter in my tummy isn’t so easy to ignore. Ignore him.
“Excuse me.” I push past him, needing some breathing space, but I don’t make it very far. His large, capable hand wraps around my slight wrist, and I look back, coming face to face with him again. Handsome. So, so handsome. Typically handsome, with lazy eyes, and a flawless, evenly stubbled, cut jaw. I bet if he smiles, that handsomeness accelerates. Will I ever see him smile?
He stares at me, and before I know what’s happening, he’s taking the glass and towel out of my limp hands, holding my arms, and walking me backward. My breathing becomes strained. My muscles tense. “What are you doing?” I ask on a breathy whisper, certain my body language and face must be spelling out my secrets. My attraction.
“What’s your story?” he asks, his stare concentrated and unmoving, as if he’s worried he’ll miss a clue. “Where did you come from?”
I’ve told Rose and Beau this endless times—so many times I know my story by heart. “I was taken from a hostel,” I whisper. “I’ve already shared that.”
“When?”
“What?”
“How?”
“Brad, I—”
“Who took you?” He gets closer and closer, close enough to smell the lies. “Come on, Pearl.” Nose to nose. “Talk.”
I look into his eyes, frozen. He blinks slowly. Looks at my lips. Scowls mildly. “Brad,” I whisper, starting to shake with the effort to remain standing.
“Pearl,” he breathes. “Talk to me.”
I don’t want to talk. Right now, I want to kiss him.
Oh my God.
No.
I raise my hands, ready to shove him away, but the door swinging open distracts me, and Brad flies around. Nolan stands on the threshold, looking between us. “Everything all right?”
I don’t answer, and I don’t give Brad a chance to either. I collect my glass and towel and rush out, feeling the pressure easing from my shoulders as I hurry to the restrooms. As soon as I’m alone, I fight to catch my breath. “Shit,” I whisper, falling against the wall and sliding down to my arse. What the hell was that?
4
BRAD
* * *
Nolan watches her dash off before slowly turning a questioning stare my way. Can’t say I like it, and I truly hope my deadly glare warns him not to say a fucking word. Don’t you fucking dare. I already know this is fucked up. I don’t need him, or anyone, telling me how fucked up. James was wary. Danny too. I soon put that to bed. I know the others have wondered. So, yeah, I need to stay away from Pearl and ensure any suspicions remain squashed. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, and he nods, backing out and closing the door quietly.
The moment he’s gone, I bury my fist in a wall and fire a few fucks. I’d fire a gun if I had one within reach.
Right in my temple.
I shake my fist and drop into the chair, raking my good hand through my hair before slamming my head back. “Fucked up, Brad. Really fucking fucked up.” I pull the drawer open, grab the Marlboros, and light up, exhaling loudly. A few deep breaths. Closing my eyes for a few minutes. Just . . . breathing. Smoking.
Doesn’t work.
I’m so fucking exhausted, lacking the energy I really need right now.
To ignore her.
To resist her.
I stub out my smoke and dip into my inside pocket, pulling out my savior, racking up a line on the desk, before rolling a note and snorting it. I drop back in my chair, the hit instant. Yes. I feel every muscle unravel, my mind clearing.