Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
A notification appears on my phone, and at first, I can’t remember whose tracker number this is. For those I’ve decided to track or keep tabs on, I have an alert appear if they’re within range of me.
My eyebrows furrow as I zoom in on the person in question, trying to remember who it is until realization snaps into place.
I shove off the wall. “I’m taking your car.”
Alek’s hunched over the man, ready to start cutting, as he looks up. His gaze narrows. “Like fuck you—”
I’m already moving, my legs working of their own accord.
I thought it was strange that Mr. Percy hadn’t called me since I ended our dealings. But if he was in New York… I might be wrong, but there’s only one person he’d come here for. There’s no way he could know Alina is here, though.
But I’m not leaving anything to chance.
CHAPTER 44
Alina
The space is stunning. I might say this every time, but I think it might be my best work yet. I’m taking final photos and videos for my social media and portfolio. The bar space is my favorite part, with the greenery that pops beside the mural painted by the street artist.
Each lingerie section is themed with appropriate toys, and I especially appreciate the BDSM section, considering I had a taste of what the ropes and handcuffs can do and how much fun that element of control can be.
A nauseating swirl churns in my stomach as I immediately think of Will. We haven’t spoken since the weekend, and a small part of me almost expects to see him popping up whenever he pleases. Surprisingly, he’s kept his distance. I don’t know why I’m surprised, though. It is what I requested.
I burp, and my hand presses to my stomach when I realize that it isn’t just gas. I run to the freshly painted bathroom and vomit into the toilet bowl. Are you kidding me?
I groan as my head hangs over the toilet. I haven’t felt well since being at my mother’s, and I’m certain I got mild food poisoning from that pulled pork taco. Not that I’d admit it to my mother.
I’m just grateful it’s not until tomorrow that the staff come in for training and the construction workers are done. It’s just me here today, so I don’t have to be humiliated by my run to the toilet.
I hear the door open and close, and groan as I rise to a standing position. When I step out onto the shop floor, a man in a flannel shirt is standing there with his back to me.
“We’re not open yet, and the owner isn’t in at the moment, if that’s what—” My mouth snaps shut, and a shiver runs down my spine as he turns.
His smile stretches wide. “I finally found you,” he all but purrs.
Memories come back of the man I’d stolen and ran away from. He’s blocking my exit, but I could make a break for the back room.
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you. I have a few friends with me, and you don’t want to piss me off any more than you already have, do you?” Jack Percy asks.
“How did you find me?” I grit out. There’s nowhere for me to run.
He laughs as he casually strides toward me, and that’s when I notice two men standing outside the front door as if guarding it and blocking us in. Dawson’s assistant might notice the security footage, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be here quickly enough if something happens. And there’s a good chance something will happen if Jack’s involved. Especially with the way he’s staring at me with dilated pupils.
“It cost me a lot of money, actually. Some tracker ripped me off, telling me you were in London, even after he promised me he’d bring you back here.”
A tracker? Surely not… Will, because wouldn’t that mean… slow realization dawns on me. He was always around. From London to even now. No, it has to be a coincidence.
Jack continues. “But then I was lucky enough for one of my women to spot an interesting article about some big-shot designer with a big-shot name in New York. You weren’t posing for the photo, but you were in the background, so I got to digging.”
A shudder runs over me again as I recall the day the journalist was here taking photos of Dawson. Fuck. I’d been reckless.
He’s standing in front of me now and reaches out to touch a lock of my hair. I slap it away, and he grabs my throat. I grapple with him, panic pumping through me with adrenaline.
“I remember when you used to put up less of a fight.”
I spit in his face, and he laughs like a madman. “You took something of mine.”
“I don’t have it.” I wince under his grip. I’d always stolen things. This was now the only time there’d been a consequence of being caught. As if only now noticing, he releases me and pushes me into a stack of shelves. Boxes of toys go flying, and I barely catch myself on the shelf, cutting my arm.