Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Walk over to the couch,” he demanded, like he’d been reading my mind. “Move,” he snarled, pressing the muzzle of the gun against my temple.
With the gun against my skin, the chance of him accidentally—or purposely—firing were too high if I tried to run.
Swallowing back the cry that was building in my throat, I stepped forward, making my way over toward the living room.
It was only then that I realized that the sound of something being knocked over hadn’t been Evander at all. This guy had tossed my whole apartment.
Looking for what?
One glance around and anyone could see that I didn’t have anything worth stealing. The most expensive thing I owned was the TV. And even that was pretty low-end in the grand scheme of things.
The money, I realized as the gun shifted, pressing hard into the center of my forehead, a silent demand to lower down.
My stomach twisted as my ass dropped onto the couch cushion. There was nothing within reach that I could use to defend myself.
All I had was the pocketknife in my purse.
If I moved slowly when he wasn’t looking down, I could slip my hand inside, grab it, and try to hide it in my palm or under my thigh until I found an opportunity to use it.
Again, reading my mind, he reached out with his free hand, grabbing my purse. He yanked hard, making the straps pull me forward as they dug into my shoulder, which pressed the gun even more firmly against my forehead.
He made a grumbling sound, finally pulling my purse off, then simply tossing it across the room. It hit the wall with a quiet thud before falling on its side, the contents spilling out.
My phone that I could have used to call for help.
The pocketknife that was my only hope at self-defense.
His gaze followed mine. And when he looked back, that nasty smirk was tugging at his lips again.
“There goes that plan, huh?” he asked.
“What do you want?” I asked, proud of how strong my voice sounded, despite the way my insides felt like they were vibrating.
“Oh, a lot of things,” he said, his gaze moving over me. Despite wearing several layers to fend off the cold as I looked for Jake, I felt suddenly naked, like he was seeing me bared to him, like he was thinking of all the ways he wanted to use me for his own sick pleasure. “But first, we are going to start with the big one.”
“The big one?” I asked as he took a few steps away, the gun no longer raised, but still heavy in his hand.
“I have a job for you," he said, then waited, wanting me to ask. He was enjoying this. Getting off on my powerlessness. Knowing that my only choice here was to placate him.
“I already have a job,” I said, lifting my chin a bit, not wanting him to see my fear. Even if it had turned my blood to ice in my veins, chilling me from the inside out.
“Yes, that’s what makes my job for you work,” he said.
“Are you going to get to the point sometime soon? Or should I put on a pot of coffee while I wait?” I asked, fear making me angry.
To that, he snorted. “I heard you were a piece of work,” he said, making my spine straighten.
Who had he heard that from?
Jake?
Was this asshole Jake’s boss?
If so, why would Jake save me from him only to sic him on me a few weeks later?
He was waiting for me to ask, but when I just stared up at him, trying to make my expression as bored as I could possibly muster, his jaw got tight, irritated that I wasn’t whimpering, crying, begging.
I’d be damned if he got that out of me.
“You are going to get me some money. Actually, you’re going to get me a lot of money.”
“I don’t have money. Have you looked around?” I asked, waving at my apartment as a whole.
“No, you don’t have shit,” he agreed. “But you have access to money. A fuckton of money.”
“No, I—“ I started, but then it hit me what he was saying.
He wanted me to steal from the meat shop.
“There it is. Thought you were supposed to be smart,” he added, again making me wonder who the hell he was getting his information from.
Compared to Jake, yes, I was, objectively, smart. But Jake never would have called me smart. He never wanted to give anyone their props, thinking it would take away from his own positive attributes. As few and far between as they were.
So who was this guy’s source?
It’s not like I had a lot of close friends. Or, you know, any friends. And Jake was the only family I had.
“You are going to take money from your job.”
“Why?” I asked, squinting at him. “You already robbed the place. There’s not that much money there,” I said, thinking of the cash drawer.