Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 101872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
The nightmare had felt so real, and he quickly rolled out of bed to rush into his bathroom.
Shudders ran through his body as he threw up what little was in his stomach.
Breathing heavily, he stood and flushed the toilet before cupping his hand under the running tap to rinse his mouth out.
Fuck.
It had been at least a month since he’d last had that particular nightmare. As he grew closer to the anniversary of that day, he knew the nightmares were going to ramp up.
This time of year was always a fucking nightmare for him.
He stared into the mirror. The man looking back at him wasn’t the same man he’d been back then.
Yeah, he was older with more lines around his eyes and gray in his hair and beard. But it was more the look in his eyes.
He’d been through hell and come out the other side.
And a lot of time he didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that he’d survived.
Sometimes, he thought that living was his punishment.
Punishment for being a bit of a bastard. If it was, well, the universe had well and truly spanked his ass until it was black and blue.
Living through this was hell.
There were also times where he wondered if he wouldn’t have been better staying on the streets. His punishment would have been swifter and harsher.
Now, he had a place to live and a job. He was warm in winter And he could shower daily.
He had . . . people he was friendly with.
Would he call them friends?
Do you deserve friends?
God.
He cupped some more water in his hand and splashed it on his face before brushing his teeth.
He needed a drink.
Moving into the shower, he quickly washed himself before getting dressed. It was close to midnight, but it was a Friday night and Dirty Delights would still be open.
He could go to Saxon’s, which was closer, but he wasn’t in a good headspace to be at the club tonight. Plus, he didn’t need any well-meaning busybodies trying to fix him.
You had to want to be fixed first.
And he didn’t.
Renard walked out of the small apartment that Saxon had arranged for him as part of his salary, although he called bullshit on that because he got paid exceptionally well.
Still, he was a talented bastard. He deserved to get paid well.
And he worked all the time. Although Saxon tried to get him to take time off. He’d even hired another chef to help him.
But what the hell was he meant to do with time off?
Sit around and twiddle his thumbs?
Go to the club and spank naughty subbies? Tie up a masochist and whip her ass? Or his ass?
He preferred to fuck a woman, was attracted to women, but he was fluid when it came to play. Sometimes he couldn’t go as far as he sometimes wanted to with a female sub. Even with a masochist who really desired his firm touch.
Sometimes his protective instincts reared their heads at the most inconvenient times.
And when they did, people usually got all grateful to him for saving them . . . blah, blah, blah.
He didn’t want to deal with people.
And yet they kept inserting themselves into his life.
He glanced at his calendar on the way out of his apartment. In six months’ time, he’d have enough money.
And then he could get out of this place.
Renard had plans. Something he hadn’t told anyone about because he knew they’d try to talk him out of it.
But it was for the best.
This life wasn’t what he deserved.
“Don’t do it, darlin’,” a voice drawled from beside him.
Fuck.
He glanced to his side. He hadn’t even heard her approach, which wasn’t usual for him.
Renard was always on guard.
“What?” he snapped.
Shit. He didn’t mean to snap at her. His demons weren’t her fault.
Sometimes pain led you to do or say things you didn’t mean.
However, she didn’t scatter away. Instead, she just folded her curvy body into a chair next to him.
“Please, have a seat,” he said without any real sarcasm.
“Thanks. I’m tired as all heck, today.”
His gaze moved over her. She didn’t look just tired, she appeared exhausted. What the hell? Weren’t the men in this town meant to take care of the women who lived here?
“Why isn’t someone making you rest?” he demanded.
Her lips twitched. She had a bright red lipstick tonight and her hair was a bleached white-blonde and teased up so high that he wondered how she could walk with it like that.
She had the sort of body men might fight wars over. Curves in all the right places. A tucked in waist, wide hips, breasts that . . . well, a man could get lost in.
Her bright pink shirt had rhinestones along the collar and she’d undone several of the buttons down to nearly the middle of her chest.
The woman was fucking beautiful.