Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
I looked over my shoulder and saw a man about twenty feet away. Lean, almost scrawny, his arms, hands and neck were covered in tattoos. I was instantly wary and sure, maybe a little afraid, so I dug to the bottom of my clutch and wrapped my hand around the pepper spray Kat had given me a couple of weeks back.
Three. Four. Five. I counted how much time I had until the man was in my face. I quickly realized I had to walk as fast as I could in four-inch heels to put as much space as possible between me and the tattooed man. I didn’t know what he wanted, and I didn’t even know who he was, but the angry look on his face said he wasn’t asking me for spare change.
“Hey bitch, don’t walk away from me!”
Okay, that was definitely anger and I took two steps forward, contemplating kicking off my shoes and making a run for the door of the card room when someone grabbed me from behind.
“Going somewhere, sweetheart?” My eyes scanned the parking lot as my head spun around. Where were Hulu and Evan when I needed them?
The guy’s breath was hot and his voice growly, but the man behind me was short, his hold pulling me so far back I nearly came out of my shoes. So, there were two of them.
“Shit you smell good. Really fucking good.” He inhaled deeply and ground his slimy hardon against my ass.
“No! Stop!” It finally occurred to me what these guys had in mind as the tattooed man finally arrived.
“Oh, we got a feisty one here G!” His laughed turned into a cough right in my ear and made me gag.
I squirmed to free myself, but the shorter man held me tight. His hand grabbed my breast, and he started flicking my nipple. Oh God, where is Mace? Provo?
They’re going to rape me right here.
I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing until I could get my bearings. Then I lifted one leg and stomped down as hard as I could on his foot with my sharp stiletto heel.
“Bitch!” Instead of releasing me, he grabbed my throat and this time, I did not like it.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” The tattooed man spoke in a low, soft tone, his voice without anger or humor or malice. He gave me a look devoid of emotion as he raised his fist. The first blow landed on my left cheek full of power and fury.
I cried out and my knees gave just a little, but he lifted me by the hair and let another fist fly right into my stomach. The couscous salad I’d made for lunch spewed all over his tattoos and the parking lot.
“Oh, God!” he spat out. The man behind released me, and I dropped to my knees, coughing and throwing up, my left cheek throbbing in pain.
In the distance, I was vaguely aware of masculine voices yelling, but I was too focused on the pain that took over my upper body to pay much attention. Footsteps sounded behind me and in front of me, and I curled into myself, waiting for the next blow to land.
Hands wrapped around my body and lifted me in the air, and I kicked and screamed, jerked my head in all directions because it was the only hope I had to avoid being dragged off and assaulted in a thousand different ways.
“No! Stop! Get your hands off me!”
“Nessa calm down. It’s me. Emmett.” He squeezed me just a little tighter, his words soft and soothing in my ear. “It’s me. You’re good. Safe.”
His grip loosened slightly and then a little more, and I opened my eyes, glanced over my shoulder even though I recognized his voice.
“You good?” he said when I’d stopped fighting him.
I nodded. “Emmett,” I said in wonder.
The word came out on a squeak as he lowered me to the ground. My left eye was a little fuzzy but the crunching sound of violence snagged my attention.
In the next moment the tattooed guy was coming at us, reaching me first. He grabbed me by the hair and shoved a fist in my face, a spurt of blood adding to the pool on my shirt. I cried out as he pulled his arm back for another blow, but all of a sudden, Emmett was on top of him. I fell to the side as Emmett landed fist after meaty fist on the thug’s face and chest.
“Don’t. Ever. Fucking. Touch. Her.” Each word accompanied by another fist. As violent as it was, I couldn’t look away from the intensity of the moment. Emmett was like a man possessed, in total protective mode. I was transfixed. By him. By the display of power and anger. And violence.
“You fucking hear me motherfucker?”
The man was bloody and coughing, beaten to an actual pulp as Emmett raised another fist, releasing another round of pain.