Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Finding a dead body would be at the top of the list, that’s for sure.
In my escape to step back, Atlas grabs me before I can move any farther, and breathes in my ear. That minty breath I smelled all those weeks ago, a reminder now of what an evil man Atlas really is.
“What…” I shake my head, not knowing what to say, but he doesn’t let me go. Atlas keeps me standing where I am, in my heels, in a pool of blood, with his hands holding me in place.
If he let go, I would fall to the floor.
“He was looking for you. Wanted you. Started asking around about you,” he whispers, moving a stray piece of hair from my ear and tucking it behind so he can lick my earlobe. “When something is mine, no one can have it, want it, or even think about hurting it.”
The way he says it makes me want to run.
Am I that to him—an it.
“I am not yours,” I tell him.
Atlas bites my earlobe, dragging his teeth over it until it pops out, and he smells me again. “For now, you are. You just haven’t realized it yet.”
“People will ask about him, he will be missed,” I say while shaking my head.
“They will, but no one will link it back to me.” He steps away, setting me free, and I take a long, slow breath. My white heels are now red. Every step I take makes the blood move, and I have droplets of the man’s blood on my toes. “But you…” he says, making me freeze. “He was asking about you. Who is this woman that embarrassed him in a public forum? Who is she?” he says, smirking. And it’s evil that smirk.
And I am instantly sober.
“Why would you do that?” I ask, looking back to the politician lying on the cement floor, his eyes wide open in death. I look over my shoulder and see the red door—it’s the same place he had me brought to the night I was kidnapped. “You had planned to kill me,” I say with realization.
“I did,” he replies without hesitation.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I found a use for you after all.”
“Is what Lucy did really that bad?” I ask. “It’s only money which you seem to have a lot of.”
“Yes, yes, I do. And yes, what she did was. So, in comes you to the rescue.” He brushes a stray hair from my face tenderly as his voice is whispered with nothing but sweet venom.
Why does he hate me so much?
What have I ever done to him that would have affected him like this?
Not a damn thing!
“Will I end up the same way as him?” I flick my hand to the man on the floor.
Did he do it with his own two hands?
Or did he have someone else to do it?
What kind of man is Atlas? Really?
And why haven’t I tried to find out more about him? That’s another question shooting through my foggy brain right at this moment.
Two men walk out, both are dressed in hazmat suits. They step over to the body, pick it up, then carry it out while I stand frozen, unable to move as I look down at the blood that still coats the floor.
“Who are you?” I ask with a shaky breath, my eyes fixated on the blood, but my question directed to Atlas. I hear his boots click on the floor as he walks over to me, lifting my chin with one finger as he smiles at me. His other hand touches my cheek, stroking it, making goosebumps break free all over me.
“Now you’re asking the right questions.” His voice is intoxicating and scary all in one hit. I hiccup, and when I do, I spew all over his shirt. He drops my chin and steps back. Touching the edges of his shirt, he pulls it over his head and lets it drop to the floor. I wipe my mouth as I look up at him and shake my head.
“Put it back on,” I say while wiping my mouth, he hands me a bottle of water and I rinse my mouth. It’s unfair to have to look at someone as gorgeous as him and dislike him so much all at the same time.
His chest looks like a puzzle piece with a flower on his collarbone and women up and down his arms. There’s a gun on his left, with a devil on his right arm.
Who the fuck is this man?
His whole chest and arms are covered, and not one of the tattoos is cheery. They are all dark, and each one represents something I more than likely do not want to know about.
“No,” he says, referring to what I just said.
His chest is hard, I can tell just by looking at it, and his arms are all muscle. If he lifted me and pressed me against him, I bet I would feel all his hard edges.