Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“Have I hurt you?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Have I kept you safe–not once but twice?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Have I shown you that I’ll do everything I can to make you safe and happy? To give you nothing but pleasure?”
Her cheeks flushed, probably remembering just how I’d given her pleasure the night before.
Finally, she gave a tiny nod.
Thank fuck. I turned on the engine and drove away as fast as I could without calling attention to the van.
“Where are we going?” Brooke warbled.
“Back to the hotel where you can be safe in my suite while I figure out how to end this.”
“End this,” Brooke echoed in a whisper.
10
BROOKE
* * *
We pulled up to the Four Seasons, and Roy tossed the keys to the valet and told him, “Keep it close.”
I was in clothes I had on from yesterday with grass stains on my knees. My panties were missing because that was one thing I hadn’t found when I snuck out of Roy’s suite earlier. Obviously, I hadn’t lingered to pack a bag while there were two dead men on my living room floor.
He led me into the lobby, scanning the place like he was taking in everything. Again, I wondered how a woodworker could afford all this. Something didn’t add up about Roy. He was… too into me. Too talented in bed. Too hot. Too perfect. Too good to be true as far as boyfriend material. Just like the men my mom had chosen who would turn out to be controlling and dysfunctional.
And also, a killer.
Was I crazy to let him protect me? Should I dash out the automatic door and run for my life? Then what? I’d be on my own. I certainly couldn’t go home. I couldn’t go down to the garage and to my car. And I probably couldn’t go to work. The mob boss would have more men after me either way. I didn’t know how to defend myself, at all.
But it wasn’t practicality that kept me at his side.
It was something about Roy even with all my concerns. He felt…safe.
Even though I had seen with my own eyes what he was capable of.
Was I playing out my mom’s past right now? Bonding with the first guy who I thought could take care of my immediate needs instead of waiting to find out his true character?
I’d literally thrown myself at Roy escaping the meeting in the penthouse. I could’ve walked out after the guy moved on after knocking on the door.
But no, I’d stuck around. Trusted him.
He’d protected me, but he’d killed four men to do it!
That wasn’t normal.
Why had I not noticed all the red flags?
He hadn’t even been fazed when he’d been shot.
Then, then! Instead of ducking out when the coast was clear, I’d had sex with him. Yes, me. The crazy woman who had been thinking with her vagina not her brain. God, I was just like my mother, glomming onto any man who had a fancy penthouse and a talented dick. If I ever spoke to my mother more than a few times a year, she’d high five me and congratulate me on my score. A rich, hot man with talents between the sheets.
Casey would tell me I was with a sociopath.
Run, Brooke, turn around and run. My mind was repeating that over and over because my BFF would tell me exactly that. That I needed to get the fuck out of here.
Indecision churned in my gut, but the moment Roy rested his big hand on my lower back to lead me across the lobby, I felt safe again.
I knew he was so wrong for me, but why did he have this magic power over me?
He had made me feel safe, ever since he’d wrapped an arm around my waist when I’d bumped into him in the hallway. From our very first encounter–the very first touch–I felt like no harm would come to me while I was with him.
Roy was right, I’d trusted him with my body the night before. He’d given me more orgasms than I could count on one hand–maybe two. He’d said more than once that he’d never hurt me. He’d had the chance to do so multiple times. He hadn’t been anything but respectful, except when he got dommy, which was hot as hell.
I had a feeling the only way he’d kill me was with too many orgasms.
But was I deluding myself?
He pushed open a door to an emergency stairwell, and his nostrils flared like he was sniffing the air.
I paused. Put on the proverbial brakes. “Why are we taking the stairs?” It made sense last time because the guys following me could’ve been in the elevator, but this time felt off. Did he want to kill me in the creepy stairwell?
His dark eyes met mine. “I don’t do elevators,” he said through gritted teeth.