Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 105813 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105813 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Funny that, seeing how the contract forbid me to cheat on Collin, the initiator of the whole damned arrangement encouraged me to break it.
I released my grip on his wrist. I’d avoided him as much as I could over the years, but he was part of my family, my employer, and he was malicious enough to hurt me, or kill me, if I refused a direct order.
Still, I had my limits. I would never willingly spread my legs for this man. It was the unwilling part, however, that corkscrewed my stomach every time he cornered me. I had threatened on multiple occasions that I would file charges if he assaulted me.
How long would that threat ward him off? Would anything stop him? Certainly not my parents. Their allegiance was, and always would be, with Trent Anderson and Trenchant Media. As if they were part of a feudalist system, where lords and ladies offered their daughter in marriage in return for the king’s protection and power.
As his thumb stroked the crease between my clenched knees, graphic thoughts of castration strengthened my backbone and raised my chin. “If you want Collin to make changes to tonight’s segment, tell him yourself.”
“That’s what I have you for, darling.” His other hand joined the first, his palms inching up my thighs and taking the skirt with it. “He listens to you, and you listen to me.”
I pressed against the seat back and squeezed my legs even tighter as sweat gathered between my breasts. “If you don’t remove your hands, you’ll regret it.” It was a hollow threat, but I would not give him the sobbing kind of fight he wanted.
His quiet chuckle prickled goosebumps across my arms. “Naïve girl. You forget who I am. Who my friends are.”
He was wrong about that. His powerful friends were the reason I hadn’t followed through on my murderous imaginings. And to call them powerful was an understatement. Often, I eavesdropped on snippets of conversations between Trent and my father in the den after dinner. Supposedly, he and my father met up with their secret fraternity of prominent CEOs, former U.S. presidents, oil barons, and royal families. They gathered in an undisclosed location to partake in heavy drinking, collared sex slaves, and bizarre rituals while hashing out their plans for the future of the world.
Rumors. Fucking hearsay without evidence or verification. I knew better than to entertain that shit.
With a deep breath, I clenched and relaxed my fingers. Me against whatever egos stood behind Trent would not keep Collin out of prison. Nor would it stop our parents from manipulating his show.
I closed my eyes and bit out the words he was waiting for. “I’ll speak to Collin about tonight’s segment.”
His hands retreated, straightening my skirt. “I know you will.” He rose and towered over me, an embodiment of antediluvian cloaks and secret guilds, dressed to deceive in modern Gucci threads. “There’s another matter I need you to handle.”
I met his cold gaze, holding my face as passive as possible, while my insides trembled with dread. These behind-closed-door requests prodded me to resist, flee, do something that didn’t make me feel like his accomplice. But the consequences chained me to the chair.
“I want you to obtain access to that underground racing network. Find out everything you can on the racers, the dates, and the maps of each race, and report back to me.”
What? Why would he—? Oh God, did he know about my involvement? My feet itched to move. I fought it, digging my heels into the carpet. “I…I don’t—” Stop stuttering, dumbass. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
What were the signs of lying? I held my head still and kept my eyes on his, blinking slowly and naturally.
He pivoted and strolled along the length of the table. “You have the resources on your payroll. Use them.”
I swallowed quickly and schooled my breath while his back was turned. “Who cares about a gang of irresponsible bikers?”
Grabbing his phone from the table, he shifted to face me and swiped the screen. Swipe. Swipe. Tap. He stared at the screen and swiped again.
Good grief, was he already bored with this conversation? I folded my arms over my chest, my neck aching with tension.
His finger stilled. “The police chief cares.”
An undercurrent of suspicion sifted through me, not an unusual reaction to the cryptic shit that fell from his mouth.
I chewed the inside of my cheek. I could give him everything he wanted on the races right now, tell him I had the information because I was running an undercover story. It was only a matter of time before he got what he wanted anyway.
My insides cringed at the thought. A foolish reaction, but I felt more loyalty for an outlaw biker I’d never met than I did for our parents. “Why don’t you just call one of your friends to dig up the info? They’re probably VIP investors on the network.”