Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Delila bangs on the door. “Open up, King!”
I freeze, yanking my arm away from her once again. “What?”
Delila ignores me, banging again. “—you know it’s right.”
“Um, what’s right?” I ask frantically.
The door slams open, and King is standing at the threshold with a cigarette hanging from his soft lips, his hair messy and his chest on full display. My mouth dries as I catch the same triangle that’s on the RV tattooed over his thick chest, with another tattoo near his hip. Calvin Klein briefs sneak out of his jeans—that are un-fucking-buttoned—with perfect cut lines tucking below.
He blows out a cloud of smoke, his dark eyes on mine. “What?” he answers her, but never removes his eyes from me. If he caught me staring, he didn’t mention it. Which I appreciate. I can admire that he looks like a fucking god, but that doesn’t make me one of his disciples.
He’s trapped me with his gaze again, and I can’t break free.
“You saw what we all saw. You know.” Delila softens her tone.
King finally looks down to her, blowing smoke rings out from between his lips. They hit her square in the face. “Yeah, so?”
“Well,” Delila reaches back for my arm, “she can stay with you, too, and be your fifth, then we just need Kyrin to find his fifth.”
There’s a long pause. Infinite. I can’t even see the ending of this pause that’s how long it is, and then Kingston laughs, his head tilting back. I watch as his throat bobs and the veins in his neck flex with the movement. Why is that sexy? You are not a disciple. “Yeah, no, that’s not happening. Good one.” The door begins to close on Delila, but her hand flies out to stop it.
“I wasn’t joking, King. She’s your fifth.” When King doesn’t answer, Delila takes the first step up, blocking the door from closing a second time. “You saw her dance. You know. Don’t try to deny it.”
Kingston leans to the side, his abs clenching at the movement. I try to ignore the tattoo on his left peck, but it’s difficult, considering it’s the same shape as the one on the RV. I want to study it as hard as he studies me. “Nope. I mean, she’s good, but not that good, and I don’t give a fuck what I know.” His tone is laced with acid dripping from his sharp teeth. He carries on his insult. “And we don’t let hoes into our routine.”
Delila’s eyes slant. “You let them into your RV.”
Kingston grins. “We aren’t talking about my cock, Delila.” His smirk darkens as he takes a final suck on his cigarette before exhaling. “But if we are, she can’t get on that either.”
I snort, shaking my head. I probably shouldn’t have, and I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but the feminist in me is choking on my rage, and well, she’s a powerful bitch.
I tilt my head. “Right, of course, you think because I’m a stripper that I open my legs to every man that shoves a hundred-dollar bill beneath my panties.”
“Well, don’t you?” he retorts, and his quick wit makes my eyes snap to his. He’s baiting me, his smug face proof of that.
“Open my legs?” I ask, and I’m well aware that this is probably the most words I’ve spoken to anyone in one whole sentence, at least in a very long time, but what can I say? He’s a siren to my voice box. “Of course, I do. But in the fashion that you’re implying? No.” I want to say unfortunately.
He rolls his eyes, glaring straight at Delila. “Not happening.”
“King…”
“What makes you think she can handle the cage?” he asks.
Delila leans forward and whispers something into his ear. Kingston freezes, and then all humor on his face is gone as he brings his eyes back to mine. “Fine.” He leans backward and whistles to someone inside the RV.
Delila steps backward, rolling her eyes. “Sorry you have to see this.”
“See what?” I ask, just as movement catches my eye and a half-naked girl struts down the stairs, shoving a bra over her head. I quickly look away, mainly because she’s had her tits out, and she’s not getting paid for it.
Kingston takes a seat on the step and shoves some combat boots over his feet. “Well, come on then, Little Bird, let’s see if you can fly.”
It’s different this time. Lights are out, and it’s darker, the sun long since burning to ash. All I hear is my breathing, the heavy exhales and inhales from my chest. I run my palm over my legs in an attempt to swipe the sweat, but that’s all just an inner ploy to distract myself from the fact that I’m standing in the middle of a makeshift stage, in the pitch black night, with no idea on what is about to happen to me next.