Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
His hair is dark, eyebrows drawn. A groove on his forehead grows more intense the longer we stare at each other through the passenger side window. In the sleeve of his white T-shirt, his bicep jumps, a line moving in his jaw. There’s an attractiveness to him that is nothing short of sharp, dangerous.
So why do I feel like my savior just arrived?
The brakes of his Mustang grind to a dead halt and I stop running, my breath continuing to fly in and out of my lungs. Throwing the car into park, he gets out, comes around the front bumper, looking around. Searching the area with those soulful eyes. Lord, he’s tall. At least six foot three. “Someone after you, honey?”
“Yes,” I breathe, shame heating my face. “M-my stepbrother, Tony.”
Malice darkens his expression and oddly, that reaction comforts me. It makes me feel as if I have an ally for once in my twenty-two years. He sweeps me with a glance, his attention ticking to something over my shoulder a split second before I hear the footsteps approaching. “There’s the vermin now,” murmurs the stranger. “Why don’t you get in the car and I’ll handle this?”
I start to do as the man asks, desperate to escape Tony, but I stop short, my hand frozen on the metal door handle of the Mustang. Why am I so quick to trust this person I’ve never met? I don’t even know his name. “I, um…how do I know it’s safe to get into your car?”
Without taking his eyes off my stepbrother, the stranger pulls a knife out of his back pocket, flips it open and gives it to me, handle fist. “How about that, honey?”
I’m not a fighter. Never have been. I don’t own any weapons. But the second that pearl-handled knife touches my palm, I’m given back the control I’ve been lacking since I was rudely awakened tonight. And this man gave it to me so easily. Let me have the power I needed to even the ground. Gratitude wells up in my throat. “Thank you.” I open the car door and start to climb inside, but hesitate. “What is your name?”
“Granger Hoskins.” If I’d named him myself, I couldn’t have come up with a more fitting moniker. It suits this sharply handsome man with the gravel voice and clenched fists. “And yours?”
Before I can answer, my brother shouts the answer. “Peyton Pruitt,” he snarls, alcohol slurring his words. “Get back here, you bitch.”
With a whimper, I lock myself into the car and close my eyes, rocking back and forth in the seat. My eyelids fly up when I hear the first bone-crunching thud. I turn around in the seat and watch the scene play out like something from a dream. I’ve never seen anyone fight like Granger. There is cold precision in every movement. He’s predatory. His expression is almost dispassionate as he plows a fist into Tony’s jaw, picks him up off the ground by the scruff of his neck…and slams him face first into the road, leaving him unmoving. Seemingly as an afterthought, he kicks Tony’s unconscious figure down the embankment, watching him crash through the foliage without blinking an eye.
And I should be scared of him, right? Why aren’t I?
The sound of my breathing is loud inside the silent car as Granger turns his head and locks eyes with me through the rear windshield. Fog wafts behind him on the road, his slow gait carrying him back toward the car. Why don’t I have the urge to run? It’s almost like his gaze pins me in place, the promise of his protective energy making me want to stay, despite what my head is telling me.
That’s there’s more to him than meets the eye.
A lot more.
Finally, he reaches the driver’s side and opens the door. My grip closes tightly around the handle of the knife and he watches it happen, his eyes ticking between my face and the weapon. “Look. You’re smart to be scared of me. But I’d stab myself before I hurt you.” He gets into the car, slams the door and starts the ignition, pausing for a long moment. “Your stepbrother,” he asks stiffly, his dark eyes lifting to the rearview mirror. “What did he do to you?”
The engine vibrates beneath my bare legs. “Shouldn’t you have asked me that question before you beat him up?”
A half smile curves his masculine mouth. “He deserved that and more just for scaring you.” His attention swings to me and it’s laser focused in its intensity. “I just need to know if I should have to kill him, too.”
Haltingly, I shake my head, marveling over the fact that I’m still not scared. What is wrong with me? There’s just something about the way he holds himself, as if he’s poised to take a bullet in my honor. After a lifetime of being threatened and treated like a burden, it’s like wading into a hot spring. “No, you don’t have to do that. He…he tried to…” Suddenly, I’m blinking furiously trying to stop the flow of tears, my earlier panic coming back in a thick wave. “He tried. T-to touch me. But I woke up and ran. It was the f-first time he’d done anything like that.”