Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
A pause, long enough that I let out a sigh of relief.
Then my phone buzzes.
Unknown
Daddies’ little girl, huh? Do they know you’ve been haunting mafia bars and rubbing your pussy all over the trash that hangs out there?
The blood rushes to my head. Or out of my head. I can’t tell if I’m furious or terrified.
Who the fuck are you?
Unknown
Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to be a good girl and send me a picture of those perfect tits. In return, I won’t tell your boyfriend that you’ve been a dirty little slut behind his back.
I stare at the text, my mouth hanging open. “The audacity of this motherfucker.” My nails click against the screen as I type too hard.
June, two years ago. If you’re good enough to get my number, you’re good enough to find that picture.
I’d let Michelle convince me to join a wet T-shirt contest. It was a wild time. It was also the night I met Luke for the first time. We’d been flirting for hours, and after that contest, we ended up in the parking lot, and he ate my pussy right there against my car.
Unknown
It’s a nice picture. I want one that all of Carver City hasn’t seen.
Shame heats the back of my neck. I got quite the lecture after the contest pictures were posted—all three of my parents got a word in edgewise about it. Our family has a reputation, after all.
No one talks about the fact that my parents engage in public kinky behavior every Saturday night, but I show my tits once and it’s the end of the world.
I don’t know if it’s the shame or the alcohol or the kernel of fear growing in my stomach. Whatever the cause, I find myself in the bathroom. I jerk down my dress and raise my middle finger as I snap a photo.
Choke on that, douchebag.
His response is nearly instantaneous.
Unknown
Good girl. Now get some rest. You’ll need it for what comes next.
2
The next morning, I’m filled with all kinds of regret, mostly for the sheer amount of alcohol I imbibed. The memories sit in my sour stomach and my pounding head. And the texts on my phone.
I scroll through them again, alone in my bed, Luke’s side long since gone cold. I’m not even sure when he left. He said he had an early day, and now that I’m sober, I’m nearly certain he didn’t give me the details. Oh well. We’re ships passing in the night, always. The more pressing issue is the fact that I have acquired a stalker.
I read through the texts a third time. There’s no clue, no hint to his identity. And I sent him a picture of my breasts. Brilliant. I delete the text thread with a curse. I could go to my fathers with this. Or, if not them, my mother. They would fix this little problem inside of twenty-four hours.
But then I would have to admit what I’ve done. I’m not ready to do that.
If I get a little thrill from the threat this stranger poses . . . Well, I’m in a free fall. What’s another weight added to my legs?
I haul myself out of bed and get ready. A hangover has never been enough to make me late for work before, and it won’t be today either. I drive onto the Belmonte estate with minutes to spare. Mother has been petitioning for the family to move to a proper office for years, but Aunt Cordelia insists on tradition. The house is easier to defend, the large property ringed with heavy fences and armed guards. It doesn’t matter that neither have been necessary for as long as I’ve been alive. There was a time when they were necessary, and that’s enough for my aunt.
I let myself in through the front door and walk down the wide entrance hall to the east wing, where the offices are kept. Mine is right next to my aunt’s. She pokes her head into my office and waves. Aunt Cordelia is a fierce woman, and she only seems to get fiercer with age. She and my mother share the same coloring—dark hair, dark eyes, olive-toned skin that harkens back to our Italian ancestors.
She smiles. “There are some reports on your desk, Ruby. Could you have them back to me by end of day?”
“Of course.”
Her smile falls away. “Is everything okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine. I was out with Michelle last night.”
Cordelia’s smile goes a little tight. “And how is she?”
“Good.” I keep my voice bright. Michelle’s parents are the same age as mine and still in good health, but my aunt never forgets that Michelle is the heir to their territory. A change of power is always rife with potential challenges. If Carver City is to fall back into war, it will happen then.