Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
"Still not following."
"You got the protection of the Mallick family. And, if I am remembering my Navesink Bank history well enough here, that also means that Mark's woman's brothers look out for you as well."
"The Rivers brothers."
"Yeah, them. You're untouchable."
For some reason, I didn't like that.
I loved the Mallick and Rivers family. They were the perfect type of functioning dysfunction my crazy ass had been craving my whole life.
But I didn't like the idea that my loose relation to them meant that, somehow, people looked at me differently.
Even if the way they looked at me meant they knew they couldn't flay my skin off my body then jerk off on my corpse.
I forced my feet to carry me a few more feet forward, promising them a nice soak in the tub when we got home for their effort, and moved closer, click click clicking until I was right in front of him, watching his head jerk up as I moved into the space between his legs and pressed my body to his, feeling my tits crush against the hard line of his chest.
I reached down, snagging his arm at the wrist, and dragging his hand behind me to place it on my ass, where his fingers instinctively curled in.
"People can touch me," I told him, making my voice low and purring. "If I want them to," I added, angling my head up, letting my lips part a bit before running my tongue along the seam, watching as his eyes went a little hooded.
"Not what I meant, baby, and you know it."
"Oh, I think you meant it," I told him, crushing my chest into his further, this time feeling that rumbling noise he made as it moved through him.
"You're a crazy ass chick, you know that?" he asked, angling his head down to look me in the eye.
"I do know that!" I declared somewhat happily, pulling back, getting some much-needed space between us. Because while it was meant to fuck with him, the contact was actually fucking with my own system as well.
And, well, he was a Henchmen.
Clubwhore fantasies aside - and, yes, I had had those - I knew getting involved with one of them would get me endless amounts of shit from the Mallick and Rivers men. Normally, I didn't mind them giving me shit. They did it constantly.
Really, Peyton, this is the third time this year. They are going to register you as a sex offender soon. That was Rush when I called him from the police department to pick me up after I maybe mistakenly flashed the wrong prudish guy. The kind who liked to call the cops because not only was he a prude, but he was a killjoy too.
Quit picking fuckin' fights with everyone. That was Shane when I went at a guy who was bragging about stringing a girl along because it was funny when she called crying. He had been about to play the voicemail for his buddies. I had a short fuse. Shit happened. Maybe a face got slapped. So what?
I don't think that is the kind of tip he was looking for. That was Charlie when I had wine-drunkenly made out with the pizza delivery guy. In my defense, he looked like a slightly older version of John Bender from The Breakfast Club, and, well, who would pass up on the opportunity to make out with a childhood crush lookalike? I was maybe a bit disappointed that the next time I ordered from the restaurant - alone, in my own apartment, wearing a mostly see-through nightie - that I learned he had quit.
So I took a lot of lip from these well-intentioned men around me, but I knew that getting involved with a Henchmen wasn't going to be the playful tisk-tisking they usually gave me. I would bet my left tit that they would have a damn 'sit down' with me about it.
I would just as soon avoid that.
No matter how hot this guy was.
"Alright, so are you coming or what?" I asked, turning away from him, heading back toward my car.
"Coming where?"
"I live in Navesink Bank. I can drop you at the compound on the way home."
I chanced a look over my shoulder to find him watching me, head cocked to the side, brows drawn low. "Should I be worried that you drive a fuckin' hearse?"
I felt the smile tug until it was free, shooting him it over my shoulder. "Yes, very."
TWO
Sugar
I'd met a lot of chicks in my life.
Met.
Talked to.
Fucked.
A shitton of them.
All of them were varying degrees of insane.
But this one, this one in her shiny too-tight, too-short, too-low-cut dress with sparkle shit all over her chest and arms, smudged makeup, skyscraper heels, and mermaid hair, yeah, she might have just stolen the grand prize.
And I had only known her a matter of twenty minutes.