Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“No. Who is he?”
Dani has always been one to keep secrets, especially when she thought her trust fund was going to be compromised.
“Dani is missing. I’m pretty certain a Russian Syndicate has her.”
He falls back into his office chair as if he’s been shot in the chest.
“You’ll find her,” he demands. “I’ll do anything.”
“That might actually mean something if I thought you had the ability to pay for my services.”
I turn to leave once again.
“Deacon, please!”
I don’t turn back around. I don’t tell him that no matter how big of a piece a shit he is or how broken his daughter left me that I’m already on the case. Let the bastard stew in his own shit for a little while.
“Let’s go,” I grunt as I walk past Flynn.
Chapter 10
Anna
Deacon glares at the delivery guy leaving the suite when he finally decides to show back up. He’s been gone half the damn day, and I don’t even want to think about the fear that tried to settle back in when I woke up and he was already gone.
“What the fuck is going on here?” His eyes scan the numerous packages spread around the living room of the suite. “Did you buy out the damn mall? I fucking told you to stay here.”
“Nieman’s delivers,” I tell him with an eye roll and ignore his irrational anger. “Are you hungry? I had the kitchen stocked as well.”
His eyes continue to dart all over the room, and I inwardly smile when I see them pause on the lingerie piled up on the coffee table. From my experience, every man is a sucker for satin and lace.
“I put it on your tab,” I tell him just to amp things up a bit, a little retaliation for leaving me alone here all day.
“I’m not paying for all of this shit.” His voice is much calmer than I’d like.
“It’s not shit,” I snap. “That’s the entire Agent Provocateur spring line.”
“It looks like a waste of a thousand dollars.”
I snort a laugh. “If only it were that inexpensive. It’s the softest satin you’ll ever touch. Go ahead. Pick a piece up and feel.”
His eyes dart from me back to the lingerie, and even though I know he’d never do it, I love that he has to think about it for a second before he spins around and heads to the kitchen.
“You’re paying me back,” he yells from the kitchen amongst the snapping and opening of several cabinets. “You have enough food in here to last a month. I doubt you’ll be here that long.”
Just the threat of being stuck here for that long makes my body seize up. I fly off the couch and rush to stand in the doorway. Deacon is bent at the middle, looking in the refrigerator, and God, the things those jeans do to his ass.
I snap out of that thought when he stands back up, a half of a turkey club making its way to his mouth.
“Still wanna complain about the food?” I tease when he takes a bite big enough to engulf half the sandwich.
He glares at me as he chews, swallowing before speaking again. He points his half-eaten sandwich past me to indicate the living room area. “There’s no reason you need all of that shit out there. There has to be a dozen bags filled with shit.”
I clench my teeth, trying to calm down before speaking again. Yelling will get us nowhere. Besides, he still hasn’t seen the bags in the bedroom, and I’d like to diffuse this situation before he does.
“Deacon,” I begin, channeling my most cajoling tone, “I didn’t have anything other than the clothes I was wearing yesterday and those awful sneakers.”
“Normal people would grab sweats or something.”
“I’m not normal, and Walmart doesn’t deliver.” I shudder at the thought. I don’t think I’ve worn a pair of cotton panties a day in my life, and I’m sure as hell not going to start now when I’m in a crisis.
He grunts his agreement, stuffing the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, but I don’t know which part of what I said he was agreeing with.
“Don’t give me attitude about liking nice things. Those Diesel jeans hugging that tight ass of yours didn’t come from Target, buddy.”
His lips lift, and it would be sexy as hell on him if it weren’t for the glob of mustard sticking to his top lip. Okay maybe even now, he’s sexy.
I clear my throat, but I refuse to turn away even when I feel my cheeks begin to heat.
“Looking at my ass, Anna?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t by choice. You were bent over when I walked in here.” Seems plausible, but the grin that grows on his face says he doesn’t believe a word of it.
His eyes sweep me from top to bottom, and I hate that I changed into soft lounge pants and a tank top after my shower an hour ago. I’d be better prepared to fight this battle if I were in heels and a dress.