Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Once we’re inside, the second man—the one who knocked me out—locks the door behind us. Now I’m alone in a sleek, expensive-looking living room with two men who stare at me like they can’t decide how to hurt me first. The one holding me shoves me onto a leather couch and gives me no time to catch my breath before he’s leaning over me, crouching low, getting in my face.
I wish I could stop noticing how gorgeous he is. That is not what I need to be thinking about right now. I need to be thinking about survival. Besides, what difference does it make how gorgeous he is? This is a very dangerous man.
His gaze moves over me, and I wait, holding my breath while he studies me closely. There’s no telling from his expression what he thinks—it’s cold, hard, and maybe that’s all I need to know.
“What’s your name?” he asks in a deep voice.
Shit. I can’t tell him the truth. He might be able to find me if and when he ever lets me go. I search frantically for something to say and finally land on the only other name that keeps popping up in my head. She told me I could use it, right? I doubt she meant it this way, but I’m trying to save my own ass here.
“Elena,” I whisper.
“Elena.” It flows off his tongue like barbed honey. Now I find myself wishing I could hear him say my actual name—which is maybe the craziest thing of all. Now is not the time to let my hormones get in the way. “And what were you doing at the warehouse tonight, Elena?”
Why lie? All it would take is searching my bag, which his friend is currently holding, to figure things out. And for all I know, they’ve already been through it, and this is a way of messing with me.
“I was picking up a package.” I squirm.
“And what kind of package would that be?”
I can’t take my eyes off his sensuous mouth, the way it moves when he speaks. What I need to do is pay more attention to his language and the dangerously dark tone in his voice, like a snake biding its time before it strikes.
“I don’t know. Honestly, I only knew there was a package that needed to be dropped off someplace else. I didn’t get any details, I swear.”
He stands up straighter, towering over me while I cower in place. It’s no use pretending I’m not scared shitless—for all I know, this is all an act to freak me out. If I don’t play along, it may piss them off even more.
His eyes darken as his pupils dilate while he rakes over my body. He likes what he sees. I’m torn between wanting to cover myself with my arms and hands and wanting to show him everything he’s interested in exploring. What is wrong with me?
“You’re not dressed like somebody picking up a package.”
“This is how they told me to dress. I swear to God, every word is true.”
“And who exactly told you to dress that way? Give me a name.”
“I never got a name,” I lie, considering I just told him her name as my own.
He folds his thick arms, his biceps bulging against his sleeves. “So let me get this straight. You accepted this job sight unseen, with no knowledge of what you were picking up or where you were going, without even learning the name of the person who assigned it to you? Is that what you’re telling me, Elena?”
“Yes. I need the money, that’s all.” My gaze darts back and forth between him and his friend, but neither of them seems particularly moved. “For school. I have to pay my tuition. They told me I could make a lot of money tonight, so I accepted the job. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Right.” He takes the bag from his friend, then starts rifling through it.
I know better than to expect him to ask permission, of course, but it still doesn’t exactly make me feel good, having a stranger paw through my stuff. His friend watches me, standing close, sneering when I dare glance his way.
“Here it is.” He pulls out the paper-wrapped package and drops the bag on the floor, bending over the coffee table and unwrapping the bundle after examining the address and label on the front.
I realize I’m holding my breath, curious about what’s inside. I’m not surprised to find a plastic-wrapped package of white powder. It’s almost disappointing.
He withdraws a switchblade from his back pocket—I wasn’t expecting that—and flips it open before cutting a tiny slit in the plastic, then withdrawing a bit of the powder using the tip of the knife. I stare, transfixed, as he places a little pinch of the powder on his tongue, frowning like he’s trying to figure out what he just ingested.