Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 111435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Her home here in Garnett was the first place she’d ever bought. She’d had enough for a down payment for years but had only rented before. Looked to me like she was planning on settling here. Didn’t want to make trouble. Her upbringing and choice of career made it likely she didn’t trust the police.
The fear in her eyes at Fate told me she knew what would happen if she tried to narc—that fear had turned my cock hard in my pants which pissed me off. Every reaction I had to that woman pissed me off. I hadn’t reacted to a woman in that way ... ever. The only reason I fucked was for release. So I could exert control over the woman. There was never any connection. I didn’t want any pussy to control me. Most importantly, I didn’t want anything to lose. Anything or anyone that someone else, our enemies, could use to hurt me.
My brothers, the ones with women—they were happy. They were glad as all fuck to be controlled by pussy. I didn’t envy them. Not one fucking bit. I wasn’t wired that way. I didn’t have goals in my life beyond keeping my brothers alive and killing those who threatened my family. I knew I wasn’t going to grow old. Wasn’t built for it. That didn’t bother me. I didn’t have a passion for life, but death, pain, violence … I had a fuck of a lot of passion for that.
But not life, and certainly not women.
Until her.
“I’m going to take care of you.”
They echoed through my skull, those words. Followed me into my dreams. Nightmares. At no time in my fucking life had anyone ever said shit like that to me. No one had spoken to me with such conviction, with a tiny hand on my chest, with both fear and resolve in her eyes.
I’d barely been able to sleep since that night. Pain didn’t mean shit, wasn’t what kept me up. I was going fucking crazy thinking about her. But I knew it was best to keep away from her. Despite what she did for a living, she was innocent, I could see that. I could fucking taste it. The monster inside of me craved to claim that innocence. To fucking ruin it. But I’d held fast.
Until I hadn’t been able to stop myself.
Until I went into that fucking club, saw her bent over the bar, seeing those legs. Those fucking legs. They seemed to go on forever, the heels she was wearing giving her almost another six inches. Then the skirt. The one that was short enough so I could see the cleft of her ass when I walked in. My cock had hardened immediately, and I’d had a near-feral need to surge forward, lift that skirt to her hips, rip off her panties and surge inside of her.
Of course, I hadn’t done that. I might’ve been a monster, but I wasn’t that much of a monster. I’d never touch a woman against her will. But something told me, something about the way her eyes had moved over me that night, that she wasn’t completely unwilling.
Still, I didn’t do that. Beyond that, Kallum would’ve tried to kill me if I had. And then I’d have killed him. Which I didn’t want to do. He wasn’t a bad guy. Or he had been a bad guy, and he was trying his hardest to get close to good. Closest he could get was owning a strip club. One where he treated the girls fucking well, paid them better and made sure they didn’t get caught up in anything dangerous.
So pretty fucking good in my world.
I didn’t want trouble with him. Not until I saw him with her. Saw the casual way she spoke to him, smiled at him. Saw her put her fucking hand on his. Then I saw red. Which made no fucking sense. She wasn’t mine.
Except she fucking was.
And she had her hand on another man. She looked like fucking sin. Skin showing. A lot of fucking skin. A lot of fucking hair. A lot of fucking makeup. All ready to dance in front of other men, show them everything, make them imagine fucking her. That didn’t bother me. What bothered me was that I was imagining fucking her too, and I didn’t want to imagine it. I wanted to do it.
I had no fucking clue why I went to Fate, why I didn’t stay away. Because I already knew I wasn’t going to let myself take her. Ruin her. But I wanted more of her. Wanted to watch her dance, wanted to imprint it in my fucking brain. Because I was a masochist.
I’d been sure she’d come to one of our parties. Fuck, all of the bitches working at the club were chomping at the bit to get an invitation to dance for us. Either for the money or for the prospect of fucking one of the brothers, becoming an Old Lady.