Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 654(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
“How about we don’t talk at all, then,” I murmured.
Even as I said the words they tasted bitter. As I touched his arms I wanted to flinch away in disgust. At him.
At myself.
His gaze flickered, the anger rippling like a channel changing on the TV as he pushed me roughly into the wall. “Yeah. We’ll get there. I’ll get that pussy. First, that pussy is gonna make us some money,” he said. No, ordered.
I straightened and jutted my chin up, glaring at him. “Excuse me?” I replied sharply. I might’ve been fucked-up enough to be turned on in the face of his anger, but even I wouldn’t stand for being talked to like that. I was still clutching that last crumbled piece of self-respect.
“Don’t act surprised. You know what I’m talking about. You’re going to fully immerse yourself in the business.”
Anger crawled up my throat as I laughed coldly. “You’re seriously trying to be my pimp?” I asked in disbelief. I knew he was connected to Carlos through shady business deals but I didn’t think he’d be that far into the prostitution side of the business. I tried my best to not find out what he did with his life. I wasn’t interested in getting to know him. He was only around in order for me to turn myself into a stranger.
My gaze flickered over his flannel shirt and faded jeans. “You need to get yourself a tracksuit and some gold jewelry if that’s the goal,” I informed him smartly. My eyes narrowed. “And a new fucking girlfriend. ’Cause that right there is never going to fucking happen. I’ve told Carlos numerous times to go and fuck himself on that score, albeit more diplomatically because he signs my paychecks. You, on the other hand, do not, so go fuck yourself. I sure as shit won’t be doing it anymore,” I hissed, wrenching myself from his grip and moving to the door so I could open it.
His palm went above the knob I was clasping, making moving it impossible.
“You’re assuming you have a choice,” he murmured in my ear, his body pressing into me from behind. “I’m sick of you acting like you’ve got some kind of code. Like you’re better. Newsflash, babe, you’re not better. You’re a fuckin’ stripper. White trash. A good one at that, with a nice ass and nice tits.” He paused so he could cup them roughly. “But still trash,” he added in my ear. “That body is worth something, and it’s going to be used to not only milk my cock but to earn me some fuckin’ coin.” The unmistakable feeling of his hard-on pressed against my ass.
I swallowed bile and struggled against the stab of pain at his words. The truth in them.
Trash. I was that.
But I wasn’t his. I wasn’t anyone’s.
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. Obviously your tiny brain needs repetition because the only head that seems to be working right is the one between your legs,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “Go. Fuck. Yourself,” I uttered slowly, trying to exert strength in my tone since he had exerted strength over my body.
I was whirled so I faced him, so his front pressed to mine, so his face could dip close to me and I could feel his breath on my nose. “You need to learn a fuckin’ lesson. Learn your place.”
I stared at him, not feeling an ounce of fear. Dylan was an asshole; I’d known that from the start. That’s what attracted me to him. He was a lowlife, which was perfect for me. Someone who was already filth so I didn’t taint them.
But he was an asshole that would not assert his assholey power over me. I quickly brought my knee up to connect with his crotch, reveling in the grunt of pain and crumpling of his body once I made contact.
I may have been small, and still slightly strung out, but I wasn’t weak. I took care of myself. That’s why I started towards my purse, the one that held my gun. I didn’t get there, seeing as my head was yanked back roughly and pain exploded in my skull.
“A woman does not put her fucking hands on me,” he bellowed in my ear.
I struggled against his hold, trying to move my feet so I could kick his shin, but I failed.
“A fucking man does not put his hands on me, or pimp me out, asshole,” I hissed.
I was pushed forward savagely, barely able to put my hands out to stop myself from colliding with our coffee table. Strung out or not, that shit would’ve hurt. Potentially killed. I may not have been happy with who I was, but that didn’t mean I was too keen on leaving this world.
I scurried back, eyes on Dylan. He stalked forward like a predator, a look I was familiar with. One I knew meant very ill for me. One that promised violence.