Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I clutch my duffel bag as my eyes sweep the room until they land on a broad-backed figure. Backwards cap, the number “112” tattooed on the back of his neck with angel wings spreading outward.
I nod in his direction and Phoebe scoffs, shaking her head.
I mouth, “What?”
Her eyebrows rocket skyward as she crowds into my space. “Let's just hope he continues not remembering you, for your sake. Or better yet, I'd start praying that he doesn't think you're hot.”
“But he’s cute?” I say, tilting my head.
“No, Melissa.” She holds my gaze, teasing the tension between us. “No more experimental therapy ideas.”
“Maybe just one more?”
She ignores me.
“I should've worn something warmer than shorts and an oversized shirt,” I mutter, running my hands over my bare legs. “Should've packed something that made sense too.”
“What are you talking about?” Phoebe whispers back.
“I don't care how long this lockdown goes on for, if that's what this is, I'm not skipping my meeting tomorrow.” I freeze mid-sentence when the double doors swing open.
Fluorescent lights catch Beast's rings as he holds the door, Yana slipping in beside him. Not touching, nothing so obvious, but that careful distance between them speaks volumes.
She scans the room, and when her eyes land on us she pipes up a little, moving toward us as Zane wraps up his speech.
Beast's head dips toward her, words meant for her ears. Yana's chin lifts in a small nod, her lips curving at whatever he's said. Prison ink covers the arms that bracket her space, yet she leans into his proximity rather than away. Their bodies don't touch, but something invisible passes between them.
Beast kisses her head.
“What?” Her eyes widen, genuinely shocked. Bless.
A shadow swallows us from behind Beast, cutting my laughter. I didn't need to look to know who it was, but I focus on thanking one of the club girls who places beers on the table.
I reach for my drink, gulping it down before letting my gaze crawl upward. When our eyes lock, heat scorches my face, my pulse battering against my ribcage like it's trying to escape. A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry to see that you're still alive.” My lip twitches. “I really need to work on the Cyanide dosage.”
His smirk deepens.
Beast rumbles with laughter while Yana's gaze bounces between Hella and me as we square off in silent combat.
“Well, this should be interesting,” Phoebe mutters, hiding behind her glass.
“Aww, what?” he taunts, the tone in his voice too deep, too dark. “You didn't think I forgot how you tasted, did you?” He pulls out a chair, annoyingly filling my direct view. “And I ain't talking about your cakes.” His jaw could cut glass, those piercing blue eyes boring into mine while his lips, sharp yet perfectly plump, curved into that knowing smile.
My gaze traces the sculpted line of his cheekbones before that familiar swagger draws me in like a drug addict.
Regardless, I meet the bull head-on. “Was counting on it.”
A shriek rips through the clubhouse, and my muscles lock, spine rigid against the chair. The club girl's laughing now, half-naked and playfully swatting at the prospect's hands on her breasts, but my body doesn't get the memo.
My vision tunnels, heartbeat thundering in my ears as my fingers dig into my thighs under the table. Sweat beads at my hairline. Count backward. Breathe. Focus on something easy.
Two hundred grams of butter, softened, two cups of sugar, white, plain flour and half a cup of cocoa, sifted, stirred with two cups of cornflakes. Spoon, roll, two hundred degrees for fifteen minutes, ice with chocolate frosting once cooled.
Hella's eyes narrow, missing nothing. All mockery vanishes from his face, replaced by something unreadable as he watches me battle the surge of adrenaline; the fight-or-flight response never shuts off.
I force my lungs to expand, exhale slowly through my nose. Normal. Look normal. The girl laughs again, but I don't flinch this time. I've had years to perfect this mask.
Hella's gaze lingers a beat too long before he claps Beast on the shoulder. “Later,” he mutters, pushing back from the table.
He leaves without another word, without a backward glance. The dismissal stings worse than it should. What he saw during those unguarded moments. What pieces of me just gave themselves away.
Beast's gaze holds mine as he stands, his hand already reaching for Yana. “We gotta go meet with the Russians. Be back soon.” Their voices fade as they move away, leaving me staring at the table's scarred surface.
I turn to Phoebe, but she’s already locked in on me, all teeth with a wide smile.
“You. Are. Fucked.”
My mouth opens. “What?”
“I know 'owned' when I see it, especially when it's coming from a man wearing a cut.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Last time I checked, you were dating a rock star. You can't talk.”
She flicks her fingers dismissively. “Yeah, whatever. Go get us drinks. No more orange juice! I need alcohol.”