Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“I don’t have it. The girls are late. But I have more clients,” he insists before scratching his chin. To me, it looks like he’s using more of the product than he’s selling. I clench my jaw as Morris walks over.
“You need to leave now! And don’t come back unless you have payment,” Morris says, tapping Cody on the shoulder.
“Please. She can come immediately,” he relays.
“Now,” Morris growls.
“Fucking hell! Just take the bitch as payment,” Cody shouts.
That’s all it takes for me to lift the glass, still full of my favorite whiskey, and smash it straight into his fucking nose. Everything quiets down around us as a scream rips through him, and his hands go up to protect his face from me damaging it even more. His bloodshot eyes glare at me, and I see the anger but more so the fear there.
“Don’t come back until you have payment. Or next time, I will break both your fucking legs and your nose again for good measure.” I sit back down and tap the bar. Letti pours me another drink as Aiden escorts Cody, the slimy fuck, out of my clubhouse.
Chapter 7
Lissie
“Sometimes love is just a lie.”
“Get the fuck out of bed.”
The snarling tone pulls me from my sleep. My hands clutch the blanket tightly when he repeats them, but this time with more venom and intensity. The room feels colder, and a shiver runs down my spine as his disgusting vileness fills the air. My heart races, and I brace myself for what’s coming.
Cody hasn’t hit me before, but he has pushed me. The one thing that works best on me, which he knows, is when he degrades me. When he tells me how the only person I have is him and he’s amazed that my sister hasn’t killed herself yet.
When he says those words…
Well, that’s part of what makes me stay.
Who would I have?
Could I live with having no one?
But then there is that small part of me who knows I would be fine if I left him. My sister may hate me at first, and her life might crumble, but she would be alive.
“Now, Lissie. Get the fuck up,” he yells once more. The blanket is torn from my grip and thrown to the floor. I hear his heavy footsteps as he goes to turn on my bedroom light. Sitting up in bed, the cold seeps into my bare legs while I look at him. He has dried blood all over his face, and his nose is bent at a weird angle. A bottle of vodka dangles from one hand, and I know whatever takes place next is not going to be good for me.
“What happened?”
“You fucking happened. Get out of bed, now.”
“No,” I whisper.
Then I hear giggling from the living room and know he brought them home with him—the women. It’s been two days since I last saw him and a week since my sister was here. Things have been quiet as usual between us, and to be honest, I didn’t even bother calling or asking him where he was. I like the quiet. And now he comes into my room and demands I get up.
He sucks in air between his teeth and makes a hissing sound. “Now, Lissie. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Bed.” The words are abrupt and disconnected, and I know he’s been on a bender by its sounds.
“What happened to your face?” I remain in bed and glance at the clock on my wall.
It’s late—midnight. I went to sleep early tonight.
“You happened. I’m so fucking over you and everything you cost me.” He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth before he lifts the bottle and takes a drink.
“Okay, divorce me, then.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The sarcasm drips from his words, his tone laced with contempt for me. His eyes narrow—hostility radiating from him. I shrink back, biting the edge of my mouth. “So you can, what? You have never held a job, Lissie. What the fuck would you do without me?”
When I was growing up, I wanted to be an author, which I now find hilarious, considering I read to someone for money.
There is so much on the tip of my tongue that I want to tell him, so many things I have planned, none of which involve his fucking ass.
“See! Nothing. I feed you and clothe you. Fuck, I even give you money for those awful tattoos on your body.” He shakes his head. “Get out of bed. We have work to do,” he spits.
“Work?”
“Yes, you’re coming with me to the clubhouse.”
“It’s not my night,” I remind him.
“Well, now it is.” He storms out, and one of his girls stops in the bedroom doorway. She peers in and looks around the room, then raises her brows at me before she turns and walks off. Skank.