Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
His expression doesn’t change. If anything, I think he sees right through me, but after a long moment, he simply nods.
I stand slowly, my legs feeling unsteady as I move toward the only bed in the room. It’s bigger than I expected, the dark charcoal gray sheets neatly pulled over firm pillows, the space far too intimate for what this situation should be.
I climb in, keeping my movements careful, controlled. If I do this right, I can pretend to be asleep and wait until he leaves. Because there’s no way in hell he locked himself in here with me for the night.
Which means there’s a way out. If I stay quiet, when he leaves, I can find my own way out. I know the other man locked me in because I checked the door before I fell apart. Now, though, I’ve had my time to panic. It is time to plan. I’m facing the wall, my back to him, when I hear the rustle of leather.
Curiosity gets the best of me.
I shift slightly, just enough to peek over my shoulder, and what I see makes my breath catch in my throat.
Chux stands at the edge of the bed, his hands moving with slow precision as he strips out of his clothes.
First, he pulls off his leather vest, laying it over the chair with care—like it’s sacred.
Then comes the black t-shirt, revealing a body built for sin—thick muscle, defined abs, and tattoos that turn him into a living, breathing work of art.
Ink sprawls across his chest, crawling up his neck, stretching down both arms in intricate patterns that look both violent and beautiful all at once.
I should look away.
But I don’t.
He unbuckles his belt, sliding it from the loops slowly, as if he knows I’m watching.
When he pushes down his jeans, kicking them off to the side, I swear to God my face catches fire. Because boxer briefs do nothing to hide what’s beneath them.
I go completely still, my throat so dry I can’t swallow.
Chux smirks, his voice thick with amusement. "You like what you see, sweetheart?"
I hate that my body reacts before my brain can shut it down. A sharp shiver rolls through me, something hot curling in my stomach, something I refuse to acknowledge. I whip around so fast I nearly tangle myself in the sheets, turning my back to him as I squeeze my eyes shut.
I hear him chuckle.
Cocky.
Why are men like this?
Smug bastard.
The bed dips, the air shifting around me as his heat moves in close.
And then before I can think, strong arms pull me against him.
I stiffen, my breath catching as his solid chest presses against my back, his body heat wrapping around me like something dark, something dangerous.
He shifts slightly, stretching onto his back, but he doesn’t let me go. One of his arms slides beneath me, tucking under my head, while the other moves up, his fingers finding my scalp. He starts massaging my head.
Gently.
Unbelievably gentle he continues at his task. His fingers work through my hair, slow circles easing over my temples, taking away the tension I didn’t even realize I was holding.
I tell myself I should fight this. I should pull away. I should hate the way my body melts into his like I was made to fit against him.
But I don’t move.
I don’t say a word.
Because for the first time since I saw that pallet of drugs at my back door…I don’t feel scared. And that might just be the most dangerous thing of all.
I keep my eyes closed, my body still as his fingers move through my hair, massaging slow, rhythmic circles over my scalp. I don’t fight it. Once again, it’s all of the things I should do and I don’t. I should do a lot of things. I should flinch away, roll to the other side of the bed, demand that he stop—but I don’t. Instead, my body betrays me, giving in to the warmth of his touch, the steady, controlled pressure of his fingers unwinding the fear that had been coiling in my chest since he locked me in here.
I feel my breathing slow, feel the tension in my jaw release.
"There you go," he murmurs, his voice soft, it barely cuts through the quiet.
I shouldn’t be surprised.
Chux is all rough edges, all hard stares and sharp words, all power and danger wrapped in ink and muscle.
But right now? He is everything I never imagined he could be.
Right now, his touch is gentle, his voice softer than I ever expected.
I want to tell myself it’s a trick. That this moment of comfort is just another way he’s keeping me in check. But exhaustion seeps into my bones, dragging me under, and I let it.
I don’t fight the warmth.
I don’t fight him.
For the first time in hours, maybe longer, I let my eyes close fully.