Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Scarred.
Old.
Angry.
Villain.
My mouth is red from our kiss and my dick is flaccid, still dripping.
Go to your room, Hadley.
Fucking please.
A man only has so much self-control.
Her bedroom door slams shut.
I let out a long sigh and mutter, “Good girl.”
Hadley
He’s going to pretend like nothing happened.
Unbelievable.
“What did he do last night?” Stormy asks, dragging me into the pantry and away from my perch at the window where I was happily glaring at Koyn, who’s outside smoking.
I roll my eyes. “Nothing.”
She lets out a sigh that could be misconstrued as relief. But why? “Probably for the best.”
“Because I’m too young?” I taunt, my voice turning mean.
“Because he’s Koyn. He’d…I don’t know…chew you up and spit you out.”
Her words feel false to me. If anything, Koyn has a problem with being too much of a gentleman. Last night, he was pissed. Furious. He even spanked my ass again.
But then…
Then he was tender and gentle and affectionate.
I’d been sucked right into that side of him. Something about him pulls me. When we kissed, it’s like someone threw a lit match into a puddle of gasoline. We ignited and I didn’t think we’d be put out. I was sure he’d fuck me and make me see stars. But, as quick as it started, he doused the heat with his cold, callous words. Sent me back to my room as though I were a child he was punishing.
Ugh, fuck him.
“Where’d you say you’re from again?” Stormy says, drawing me from my inner rage.
I snap my eyes to hers. “I didn’t.”
“I can help you,” she says softly. “You’re still a baby. You need to get back to your family. They can protect you.”
I recoil and stumble back, bumping my ass into the shelves of canned goods. “I don’t have a family. There’s nowhere to go back to.”
She opens her mouth like she might speak again, but then we hear deep voices. Her caring face is wiped off as she affixes a flirty grin.
“Filter, baby, what do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll make a store run.” She gives me a long look before slipping out of the pantry.
I follow her out to find several of the guys congregating in the kitchen. My gaze seeks out Koyn. He’s staring at his phone, scowling. Feeling brave, I walk right up to him. Before I can ask him what the hell his problem is, his phone rings and he takes the call.
“What’s up, Copper?”
And then he’s gone.
“Who kicked your puppy?” Dragon asks, throwing an arm over my shoulders.
He smells damn good.
“Koyn.”
“Koyn’s mean like that.” He turns his head and inhales my hair. “If you want sweet, I can be your sugar.”
A chill ripples down my spine. Dragon doesn’t seem sweet at all. Just yesterday I was interested in taunting him, but not now. He kind of spooks me.
“I’m good, Pete.”
“Pete?”
“The dragon.”
He snorts. “I breathe fire, PG. Where do you want me to make you hot?” His palm slides to my ass and he caresses it. “Here?”
Katana steps right in front of us and his dark eyes sear into Dragon’s. The small, Asian man looks like he’s right out of BTS or some other pop group with his porcelain features and perfect, inky black hair. His face is pretty, but in a dangerous way. It’s not a surprise that the two creepiest fuckers are friends.
“Yeah, yeah, K,” Dragon grumbles. “Just poking a little fun.”
They walk off and I sigh in relief.
“Hey, Hadley,” Bermuda says, grinning his adorably boyish smile at me. “Wanna help me plan the Thanksgiving menu?”
I stare at him.
Aside from his innocent smile, he screams biker dude. Tall, bulky, dangerous. He’s as good-looking as the rest, maybe better because he has that whole football player redneck vibe going on. He’s tatted, though, and I know he carries a .45 all the time. His leather cut stretches over his broad frame and his black boots have buckles on them. So it’s weird as hell that he’s grinning at me like his grandmother let him plan the family feast this year.
Once again, the whole family feel of this place gets under my skin.
“Not really,” I snap.
His grin widens. “I could make more orange fluff.”
“Is that what the fluffy nonsense was called?”
“You ate almost the whole damn bowl by yourself. We could make some more of your favorites. Just let me know and I’ll make a list.”
I cross my arms over my chest and try to ignore the memories of my childhood assaulting me. Running through the kitchen with my cousin Jake. Mom telling us to slow down, but with a smile in her voice. We had people to cook for us, but not on Thanksgiving. Mom always chose that day for us to be like every other American family. She slaved away in the kitchen while Dad watched football with the other male relatives. It was always my favorite and not just because my birthday was near Thanksgiving. It’d been one of the few holidays that felt normal and happy.