Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“You need help.”
No argument there. “I know. I just don’t want yours.” There, I’ve made myself clear. Too bad I can’t look directly into his stunning blue eyes as I say it.
“All right, bunny. I’ll go.”
I sag against the wall. Thank the gods. It’s a good thing he agrees because I have no way of forcing him to do anything. I’ll just ignore the way my body cries out for his. How I’m already missing his warmth and scent. There’s no reason for me to want him around.
Because I learned a long time ago that cravings aren’t logical.
“Here.” He pulls out a battered, brown leather wallet and extracts a wad of bills, all hundreds.
I tense at the sight of that amount of money. “St. James said the money will be in my account.” Paid through Inferno, marked as a bonus.
He doesn’t urge me to take it. He just tucks it right in the pocket of my joggers, holding my gaze.
A flush rolls over my cheeks and chest. I’m not ashamed of sex work, but standing so close to his burly form, it’s impossible to forget how I earned this cash. How savagely he broke my body in.
How hot we were together.
His eyes burn. I swallow. I don’t want to take this money. I don’t want to need it.
But I do.
“Bye,” I whisper because that’s all that’s left. There’s so much unspoken between us that will never be said. That’s just the way it is. The way it has to be.
I watch him pace to the stairs. He pauses, the muscles in his back working like he’s wrestling with himself.
A rush of desire hits me so hard that I get dizzy. Turn around. Don’t leave.
It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever felt and all the more potent because it’s true and as real as the gravity holding my feet to the floor.
But he does leave. I wait until his bright head disappears before rapping on the door.
The second my sister opens it, I know something’s terribly wrong. My sister doesn’t look like she’s slept all night. Her eyes are puffy like she’s been crying, and her toddlers, Tyson and Janie, are shrieking in the background.
“Where have you been?” she hisses, looking left and right as if expecting someone to leap out at us. “I’ve been calling you.”
“My phone died.” I push past her, propping myself up on the wall, limping as quickly as I can to the couch. “I had a job.”
The apartment’s a mess. Toys in every color cover the floor, the TV plays a kid’s cartoon on low volume, and the place smells like dirty diapers and spilled juice with a faint undertone of mold. In the grimy window, an ancient AC unit cranks out warm air. It’s leaked water so long there’s a black trail from the window to the floor.
This place is home. But instead of the relief and comfort I get from the depressing but familiar surroundings, I have a brief flash of longing for the resort-level cabin where I spent the night.
I sink into the crumb-covered couch. Margot runs to get Tyson out of his high chair. He and his older sister have perpetual bedhead and run around in sagging diapers, but they seem happy. I have to believe my niece and nephew know they’re loved and that we’ve done our best to protect them from the crushing stress of bills, deadbeat dads, and crappy apartments. I can only hope.
Margot gets the kids set up in front of the TV and returns to me.
My older sister was always beautiful. She dropped out of high school and headed to the big city to start her modeling career. She ended up pregnant with Janie instead.
Her multiple sclerosis diagnosis came soon after Tyson, which was when her baby daddy left.
She needs expensive medication. The disease attacks her nervous system, and if she deteriorates, we’re afraid social services will take away her kids.
I pull the money from my joggers and hand it to her.
She sucks in a breath as if I’ve handed her a snake. “What is this?”
“Payment. There’s more where that came from. We can pay off Trey’s debt.”
Instead of looking relieved, her face crumples, and she sags to the couch.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s too late. He came back.” She’s whispering, glancing nervously at her kids and away.
“Baldie?”
She nods. The first time the loan shark’s thug came around, we called him Baldie and laughed behind his back. He was looking for Trey. The next time, he’d told us Trey was gone and that his debt had fallen to us. If we didn’t pay, he would break our legs. We gave him our rent money as a stop gap and quit making Baldie jokes.
“When?”
“Last night. Pounded on the door so hard, I thought he’d wake the kids.” She runs a hand through her hair. It’s a gorgeous auburn that usually falls in a silky wave. But right now, it’s dank and flat, like she’s been running her sweaty hands though it nonstop. “He said now we owe double.”