Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 65871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I know for a fact that there is no way this man is trying to help me. Whatever he is trying say or do, it’s fucked up. I can feel the danger deep inside me, all mixed up with that annoying lust that won’t go away because I have never been fucked and my stupid body is reacting to this Russian alpha wolf. He’s not my mate. He’s too old. He’s too mean. He’s too… too fucking everything.
“We don’t have any money! There’s no point abducting me!”
“Quiet,” he orders.
I can’t be quiet, and I am not quiet. I spend the next five minutes going absolutely nuts as I am carried across a field, back into the barn to collect my things, which the pack gathers for him as if he owns everybody there, and then off to a car that has been waiting nearby.
The car is more like a villain SUV, and it contains a bunch of burly Russian henchmen, all of whom look like they’ve been carved out of cold marble. Dark haired, light eyed, and absolutely chiseled. Any one of these guys could have given Trent a run for his money. I used to think he was the most impressive specimen of wolf-kind I’ve ever encountered. Now I’m starting to realize he’s not much more than a country dirtbag. A nice country dirtbag, but still not anything compared to these international alphas.
“There’s no money in this,” I repeat myself as I am put into the back in the double seat in the middle between the three in front and three in the rear. “You’re wasting your time.”
The Russian sits next to me, boxing me in, and starts going through my bag, pulling out clothes and tossing some over the front of the seat. He’s into everything, including my underwear. It’s humiliating, having those garments spread all over the back seat of this vehicle. There’s a pair of pink panties on the floor, and one of my bras is over the back of the seat.
“What are you doing?”
“We will need to get you an appropriate dress for the funeral,” he says.
The word funeral makes my stomach sink and my heart do a double beat. Is he serious? There’s no way.
“You are starting to freak me out.”
He looks at me, really looks at me. I look at him properly for the first time, not getting just a vague sense of him, but taking in all his features. He has a very square, powerful face with a prominent brow ridge. His eyes are like flint, two brilliant staring jewels that make me feel as though he is looking through me even more than he did my bag. I feel as though he’s taking me apart in ways I didn’t know I could come apart. He’s brutal, he’s intelligent, and he’s a complete stranger who somehow seems to know me.
“You should listen to me,” he says. “I am sorry to tell you bad news, but it is true. Your mother has passed.”
“That’s not possible,” I say. “That literally cannot be true. I can’t be here. I can’t listen to this. I have to get the hell out of here.”
The vehicle is already in motion, but that doesn’t matter. What happens next is like a bull in a china shop; I am scrambling and flailing and yanking at handles and windows. None of it works, and everybody tries to restrain me, but I am like a wild animal. God, I wish I was a wild animal. I wish I didn’t have to feel anything.
Right now, in this moment, I am panicking. I am terrified for my safety, and even more scared for my mother.
“What did to you do to her? What did you fucking do?” I hit out with all my strength, making contact with these awful strangers as best I can, but only succeeding in really hurting my knuckles. Then I discover something that thrills me and terrifies everybody else. The big sliding door wasn’t locked, and I manage to get it open. It slides open and I dive for the berm, even though we’re going at some speed. The driver hits the brakes, which is good because hitting the road fast feels pretty bad. There’s the impact, which isn’t great, and then there’s the feeling of bits of my skin being eroded by the gravel as I roll around on it.
“Are you crazy?”
The Russian is on top of me, hauling me up from the ground without any care for potential injuries. I don’t know if anything is broken, because everything feels broken. It was pretty dumb, I guess, because jumping out of a moving vehicle is the same as incapacitating yourself. Can’t really run when it feels like every single one of your bones is a certain kind of broken.
After I whine at a pained pitch, he checks me over without much in the way of tenderness, glowering at me the entire time.