Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 79959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Your reputation,” I offered.
“You think that I am the big bad that can keep V in line?”
“Somethin' like that. We know your reputation.”
“What do you do?” Cash cut in, leaning on the counter toward Lo, looking fascinated.
Jesus fucking Christ. He wanted to stick his cock in her. Typical.
Lo shrugged. “I do a little bit of a lot of things. Chasing skips. Private security. The occasional extortion deal. Some hits. Not as many as we used to do though. I have a lot of men with a lot of varied talents. I like to put them to work.”
“Hits?” Cash asked.
“What? Never killed anyone?” she asked him, leaning across the island, getting close to his face. He had. Only one man. But he had. “Ah, there it is,” she said, nodding. “We ain't that different.”
“We kill to protect our chapter. Our brothers,” Cash countered.
“So you're better than me because I kill for money?”
“Hell fucking yeah,” Cash countered.
Alright. Maybe I read that wrong. He didn't want to fuck her. He wanted nothing to do with her.
“Yo, as much fun as it is to watch you two bicker like an old married couple,” I broke in, watching their faces snap to mine, “I got a woman being tortured as we speak. Are you gonna fucking help us or what?”
Lo exhaled a long breath, straightening.
“Oh what the hell? If for nothing else than to see how you look at her now that you know you love her.”
And that was how we got the craziest mother fucker on the East Coast in on our mission to get Summer back.
Twenty-six
Summer
Four days.
Two days at my father's.
Two days at my mother's.
So far, I was pretty sure I preferred my father's. With the unlimited access to the shower and bathroom and actual decent meals. With big, hulking, silent Lee keeping watch over me. Instead of Martin. Instead of the other new guy who sat outside my door at night singing some song I had never heard about killing a man. In a sick sort of way, I almost wished Deke was still around. At least I knew what I was in for with him. The new guy, well, he had eyes like Martin.
“Five minutes,” Martin growled, throwing me into the bathroom and slamming the door.
He was pissed. Probably because, for some reason, he wasn't able to get into my room the night before. Which I had a suspicion might have had something to do with Daniel intervening.
I was also uncuffed and then allowed to recuff in my front to give my shoulders a break. Again, thanks to Daniel.
I washed my hands, looking up into the mirror. If the day before was bad, this was worse. The bruises around my throat looked darker, my eye had yellow mingling with the blue and purple. And my eye was still full of blood. Apparently that didn't go away like I thought it would. It looked worse than it was though. It didn't even hurt. So at least there was that.
The door swung open.
Too soon.
I had been counting.
We were at three minutes.
Not good.
I barely had a chance to jerk my head in the direction of the door before my hips were slammed up against the sink hard enough for me to yelp and the side of my face collided with the mirror, a hand at the back of my neck holding me there. The glass cracked beneath the pressure and I felt the blood start to trickle down the side of my face. The pressure on my neck relaxed and I sucked in a deep breath, preparing. Because it wasn't over.
The hand moved up into my hair, grabbing it at the base of my neck and pulling viciously backward and turning me until my head jerked up and I was staring into the hollows that were Martin's eyes.
“Get on your knees,” he said quietly.
No.
No fucking way in hell.
No.
But the choice was taken away a few seconds later when Martin's boot swung forward and, full force, landed against my shin, sending me downward on a hiss. The hand stayed in my hair, slipping down toward the ends and pulling harder. His other hand went to the front of his jeans, popping the button and reaching for the zip.
No.
No no no no no.
That couldn't happen.
I could get over the pain. My cuts would heal. My bruises would fade. I could move on from that. But I couldn't, I knew somewhere deep down in my soul, that I wouldn't be able to recover from being forced to have his dick in my mouth.
I . Just. Couldn't.
Unbidden, an image of Reign popped into my head. Of him coming back from some kind of meeting with the rest of his men. He sat down at the foot of the bed, his back tight, his elbows resting on his thighs, facing away from me. And he just seemed so stressed out. I climbed out of bed, quietly padding across the floor and moving in front of him, sliding one of my arms around his shoulders, one slipping into his hair. And just like that, his arms went around my center, pulling me close, holding me tight. I held on for a long couple minutes, enjoying the feel of him holding onto me like I was precious. Like I was a bright spot in his dark day. Then I slowly pulled backward until his arms loosened and lowered myself down between his legs, looking up into his eyes as I reached to unfasten his jeans. His eyes stayed on mine, mine on his, as I reached inside and started stroking him. His hand went out, his knuckles brushing down my jaw before I tilted my head and took him in my mouth.
That was the last memory I wanted to have about that particular act.
Not being forced to do it with Martin.
Happily, lovingly doing it for Reign.
I couldn't let them take anything else from me.
Martin had his pants undone and was reaching inside.
I twisted my body, bringing my boot up, and swinging my arms over to reach inside.