Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Adjusting my suit, I push through the revolving doors and enter the lobby. It’s dimly lit. Average, just like any other lobby of a basic business building outside of the main downtown area in Chicago. There’s nothing special about it, except that it has a million dollars that better be waiting for me.
The security guard, a relaxed, middle-aged woman with her cell phone in hand, nods as I walk toward the elevator because security is only here to ward off the bums and the crackheads from coming into the place. They never worry about the more dangerous people like me: the devils in suits with deadly intentions. I might give the appearance of a gentleman, but I could destroy your world in a heartbeat, and I would if given a reason.
I check the directory next to the elevators, looking for the dickhead’s floor and office number just in case he tries to pull a fast one and move into another office.
As I suspected, the pencil dick did just that—two floors down from his usual floor. Instead of the financial floor, he’s on the shrink floor, it would seem. There are two different counselors on the floor, along with a psychologist.
My guns and blades are tucked securely away. Still, I check my suit again while waiting for the elevator to open. The second I step inside, I’m assaulted with a delicious scent; I don’t know what it is, but whoever was just on here must smell fucking divine. I breathe in the scent of fucking freshly baked sugar cookies and vanilla. My dick stiffens like the damn steel hardware I’m carrying. Damn, I’m turned on by someone’s fucking grandma.
Shaking my head, I get off on the third floor and see the same beige color in the lobby with dark, wood-grain trim that has seen better days. Striding down the hall, I get that whiff again. Damn, I’m like that fucking toucan and about to follow my nose, but I have to chase my goal, and that’s getting my hands on the money McIntyre should have for me.
I grab the office door handle and turn the knob, but it doesn’t open. Strange, since it’s standard business hours. Pounding on the door, no one answers. “McIntyre, open the fuck up.” He doesn’t answer, so I bust out my special toolkit, and I’m about to pop the lock when the aroma of my little vanilla-scented queen appears out of nowhere. I turn around in time for a little body to collide with my chest. My hands stretch out, and I hold her momentarily when I shouldn’t.
“Oh my God,” she squeals, slowly looking up and then quickly back. I follow her gaze, searching for the piece of shit she’s afraid of because they’ve just made my list of enemies, but there isn’t anyone behind us.
I dip my head down and gaze at this petite raven-haired beauty with hazel eyes. “Where are you running to, Cupcake?” I ask, staring at the most beautiful woman in the world. From head to toe, she’s made to entice, to eat up, a delicious snack to devour. She’s definitely not a grandma, and my dick notices tenfold.
“Um…” She avoids my question and turns her attention to whatever is behind her.
I grasp her chin and turn it so she has to give me her pretty eyes. “Cupcake, I’m talking to you.”
Chapter Two
Patty
It’s my birthday, my eighteenth, and I wake up with a sense of relief that’s unexplainable. There’s a chance I’ll be free.
Today, I can flee and no one can come after me. The police don’t have legal authority to bring me back, either. Well, some of the cops don’t care about legalities when they work for my father. Still, once I get out of the state, it won’t matter. Other cops, maybe even the Feds, will care about protecting the innocent from the mob.
Knock, knock, knock.
The daily rapping on my door grates my nerves because even today, I don’t get to sleep in. It’s not as if I do anything all day, so I’m not sure why I can’t sleep in.
Still, I answer before the pounding begins. “I’m up,” I call out. Sometimes I wonder if it’s more of a bed check, like a prison rather than a wake-up call. I toss back my comforter and slip out of my bed, stretching before doing my Pilates. It’s only a fifteen-minute workout, but it’s a part of my morning routine and something my parents don’t complain about because it keeps me fit and looking like a proper young lady.
It’s strange how they care about my health and appearance, considering I rarely see other adults and I’m not allowed to leave the house. I’ve been home-schooled since I was thirteen.
I asked them about it once and my mother said, “We can’t find you a husband one day if you’re a cow.” I shook my head and laughed, which earned me a slap.