Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
“I guess I should say I’m one of the bad guys.”
The words hang in the air between us.
From the back seat, the girl whimpers.
And all I can think is: frying pan, meet fire.
Chapter Four
“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS.”
The words slip out before I can stop them, and my rescuer’s cold blue eyes cut to mine.
“About which part?”
“The p-part where you’re one of the bad guys!” I gesture wildly at the car interior, at the blood on my cardigan, at the girl still crying softly in the back seat. “Bad guys don’t rescue people! Bad guys don’t—”
“I was serious.”
Aargh.
I can’t believe this is happening.
But this is happening, and yes, the girl and I were idiots to have gotten inside this car and for trusting the wrong person, but...it’s not too late, is it? We can still get out and run—
“Don’t.”
Like I’m going to listen to him now.
So I find the door handle and give it a try—
ARGH.
I scramble for the window controls, but nothing’s working. Everything’s locked, and that’s why—
“Don’t try to do anything stu—”
I lunge for the steering wheel.
I know it’s stupid and suicidal, but what’s there to lose?
The other girl screams as the car swerves violently, but all I can think of is escaping.
Trees blur past the windshield at a terrifying angle, and then we’re spinning, gravel spraying everywhere, and I’m thrown sideways as the car slams to a stop inches from a massive oak trunk.
Silence.
My ears are ringing.
My heart is somewhere in my throat.
And then—
He moves.
Fast.
Faster than I can process.
One second he’s in the driver’s seat, the next he’s on top of me, straddling me in my seat, his hand clamped over my mouth, his weight pinning me in place.
I can’t move.
Can’t breathe.
Can’t do anything but stare up into those ice-blue eyes, which are blazing with something that looks terrifyingly like fury.
“You didn’t let me finish.”
His voice is low.
Controlled.
The kind of controlled that’s worse than shouting.
“I’m one of the bad guys because I was born to it. My father was a drug lord. He sold me to a rival gang when I was twelve because I was the weakest of his sons and he had no use for me.”
The words hit me like a bucket of cold water.
“I got out. Clawed my way up. And now I do freelance work with the FBI, taking down the same kinds of monsters who made me what I am.”
His hand is still over my mouth, his body still pressed against mine.
And as his words echo repeatedly in my mind, I become gradually and horrifyingly aware of how warm and solid he is—
“Do you understand now?”
I manage a nod, and he holds my gaze for a long moment, before slowly removing his hand.
“Why didn’t you start with that?” I blurt out.
“Why didn’t you let me finish?”
“Because I’m the act first, think later type. Isn’t that obvious?”
His gaze glitters, and I think...I think...
“Duly noted from hereon.”
Oh, okay, I thought he was going to smile, but obviously not.
My rescuer finally eases back, and the girl in the backseat lets out a shaky breath of relief.
“I’m sorry I almost crashed your car,” I say in a small voice.
“It wouldn’t have come to that.” He settles back into the driver’s seat like nothing happened. “So you don’t need to apologize.”
I almost smile despite everything.
Confident much?
“Before we get back on the road,” he says, “do you have any other questions?”
“You said you work with the FBI? Is that how you ended up rescuing me?”
“In a way.” He starts the engine, and the car purrs back to life like it wasn’t just seconds away from becoming a crumpled heap of metal. “How much do you remember of your abduction?”
I strangely feel like laughing when I hear the last word.
Abduction.
I actually forgot about that, and I’m not sure I like being reminded of it.
It’s never going to be my favorite memory, you know?
Being...abducted.
And now that the adrenaline is fading, I’m starting to feel the pain. A dull throb in my side that’s growing sharper by the second. I look down—
My rescuer sharply draws his breath as we both see it at the same time: the bloodstain spreading like a virus across my side, turning my cream-colored cardigan to crimson.
Whoa.
“You were shot,” he grates out.
I...was?
“Why didn’t you tell me you were shot?”
Because I didn’t know either.
Until now.
“I...”
I don’t know why that’s the only thing I’m capable of saying.
Don’t know why all I can do is stare up at him.
“I...”
Think I’m going to faint.
The world tilts sideways, and the last thing I see is his face—beautiful, furious, almost worried—before everything goes black.
WHEN I WAKE UP AGAIN, I feel blessedly numb.
But also completely confused.
This isn’t a hospital. There are no beeping machines, no antiseptic smell, no nurses bustling in and out. Instead, I’m lying in what looks like the most expensive hotel suite I’ve ever seen: silk sheets, velvet drapes, crown molding on the ceiling, a crystal chandelier casting soft prisms across the walls.