Series: Penny Dee
Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“I know what you like.” That’s his only answer, and with a defeated sigh, I finally turn to him. His drink is pressed to his lips as he watches me over the rim of the glass.
“You know what I like?” The question hangs between us. I never know how to read Silas. He’s always commanding yet acting like a gentleman. But every time I’m on edge for what demand he has for me. It especially annoys me in the way he acts as if we’re well acquainted.
“Yes, this is your chosen drink. Do you care to lie and tell me otherwise?”
Of course he knows what my chosen drink is. He would have done his research. Research I’m sure he could better be using to uncover his friend’s death. Or maybe he already has, which is why I haven’t seen him. I don’t fucking know, but it’s frustrating for me as well to have such a lack of resources to figure out what happened that night. What I do know is none of the crew is acting out of sorts toward me, which means it’s been buried, hopefully alongside his friend’s body, respectfully.
“Why are you here?” My voice is flat.
“My men wanted to blow off some steam,” he casually says, not even bothering to look over his shoulder.
“And you just so happened to pick this place, on the night I am here?” There are multiple clubs in Boston, and I don’t believe in coincidences when it comes to this man.
He places his glass on the counter, and his fingertip rubs across the top of it in circles.
“Coincidence … some would say.”
I scoff, but choose not to speak again as I look away from him and back at my phone. Even though it’s hard, because he takes up so much room with his presence, it’s almost suffocating.
“Boss,” one of his men says. “There’s an issue…”
“What kind of issue?” he says, clearly not giving him any attention, his eyes still on me.
His man leans in and whispers, hoping I don’t overhear. “One of the guys got too handsy with the blonde, and well, she hit him, and now she is knocked out on the floor.”
My eyes swing to his, my stomach twisting with a gripping fear. I’m moving before I can stop myself. I stalk to the private room and yank the curtain open and find Nessa on the floor. She’s out cold. My breathing picks up seeing her like that, laying almost lifeless. Her hands splayed out next to her face, and a man sits back on the lounge, laughing as he smokes a cigarette.
I rush over to Nessa and touch her softly on the shoulder. “Ness…”
“Oh, you want to dance for me too, whore?” the asshole lounging on the couch says. His eyes are dilated, and he’s clearly on something.
I ignore him and focus on Nessa. “Come on, honey … open your eyes.” My stomach twists into knots. No, no, no, come on, girl. Wake up.
Nessa slowly comes to and mumbles something.
Oh, thank fuck.
“Stay here. I’ll get Soph to help you. And where the fuck is security?” I growl, knowing that exceptions are probably made for men like these, which pisses me off even more.
Her eyes flicker open and land on me. “What the hell…” She’s dazed but quickly remembers what happened. “Oh no… Don’t do anything, Leo, you’ll get me fired.”
My jaw grinds when that’s the first thing she thinks of. Then again, she’s probably thinking about Larissa. Right now, I just need to get her out of here. That’s all I’m focused on, my heart racing at the injustice of women dealing with pigs like this. I wave to Soph at the bar, who immediately rushes past me to help Nessa.
Blood is trickling down her face, but I don’t know where exactly it’s coming from. Luckily, Soph is taller than both of us and easily pulls her up to stand.
The man on the lounge throws his head back and laughs.
All that bottled rage has nowhere to go as I narrow my gaze on him, and the moment she’s out of the room, I close in on the asshole. “What did you do to her, you limp-dicked asshole?”
His smile slips. “What did you fucking call me?”
“I called you a limp-dicked asshole. Want me to spell it out for you too or—”
He stands with a roar, his eyes bright with cocaine and rage. “You fucking cunt. Come over here and say that to my face.”
“I just said it to your face, asshole.”
His eyes grow wild. An ugly sneer spreads across his wet lips.
“Come a little closer, whore. I fucking dare you.”
That’s when I feel him behind me. A silent thundercloud at my back. Silas.
Turning around, I come face-to-face with the most terrifying man in the fucking world.
Does he know this loser?
“Need help?” he asks, as casually as ordering a coffee. But I know better than to be tied with this motherfucker, who most likely purposely hung back for a moment to see what I’d do. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t a performance for him or anyone else. This is my unfiltered rage, which at times has gotten me into a lot of fucking trouble.