Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
But then, I’m not the one who took the conversation to steamy places. I didn’t force him to say all those things, to direct my hand between my legs and take hold of my body like he was the one touching me.
That’s how it felt at the end. Not like my own hand, but my man, my Killian, rubbing at me possessively.
Does he care I can’t meet? Or is he creeped out by my wanting to talk about family stuff?
“You deserve better than this,” Mom whispers, her voice heavy with sleep.
“Just try to rest, Mom.”
“I mean it.” She chokes away a sob, sounding like she was on the edge of unconsciousness. “You’re bright and talented. You always have been. You’re so mature for your age. Without me, you’d find your way in the world.”
“Every time I leave the house, I have a panic attack,” I snap. “I feel like the sky’s going to fall on me. My throat gets tight, and I almost choke to death.”
“You get the groceries,” Mom murmurs.
“From the store on the corner. And I almost collapsed last time.”
I’m not sure why I’m spilling out these words with so much rage.
It might be because it’s evidence of why I’d never be able to behave in person as I do in text. Not with Killian, not with anybody.
But Killian’s all that matters.
He wants a woman he can hold, kiss, and make love to, real love, not over text….
But I find life far easier hiding behind words.
I use other people’s words when I’m editing, and now my own when texting my man.
No, not my man.
Just Killian.
My phone still sits on the coffee table, not vibrating, not making a sound.
He’s forgotten about me.
“We ruined you,” Mom whimpers. “Why are you so scared? What are you scared of?”
“Everything,” I whisper.
“Pardon?” Mom asks.
“I don’t know,” I say instead, glad she didn’t hear. “It’s hard to explain. It’s more like this instinct the second I step outside the door, like this response I can’t control. I want to do better. I will.”
“Me too.” Mom shuffles closer to me. “We’ll both do better.”
I silently pray for it to be true while staring at my phone.
Nothing.
I shouldn’t have mentioned Dad.
CHAPTER 7
Killian
I round the corner to my apartment building, the sleek, clean sidewalks, and roads completely different from the street I lived on when I first met Emil.
I was an up-and-coming boxer, and Emil thought he could swagger up to me in the local diner and lay down his twisted law. He thought he could tell me to take a fall against my Russian opponent, a fighter many thought I’d lose against anyway.
“And you see,” he said, flashing a gold tooth when he smiled. “You will make even more than the winner’s purse.”
I’ll never forget the look on his face when I told him no.
It was like ash filled his eyes.
His lips twisted in indignation.
And then he nodded, stepping away. “You will change your mind.”
But I never did.
And when I started to get more popular, it became risky to take me out. It made Emil look weak in front of his Cartel buddies.
I pull up outside the building, not bothering to use the underground parking, then leap from my car and stalk across the street.
My underwear clings stickily to me, reminding me of what I did not that long ago….
And I’ve been so consumed with speeding across the city that I haven’t texted my woman back.
I want to meet.
Need to.
But she said she wasn’t ready.
Focusing, I push open the glass doors, walking into the shiny lobby.
And there he is. Emil.
He rises from the couch, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a broad grin on his face. The gold tooth flashes at me again.
He’s almost my height, just as broad, with thick black hair brushed back slickly. He wears a leather jacket, and tattoos creep up his neck.
“My old friend,” he says, with sick warmth in his voice.
I tightly smile as he approaches, my fighter’s instincts kicking in, telling me to leap at this man, to lay him out flat for thinking of invading this new chapter in my life.
“Emil,” I reply flatly.
There’s no point laying out all the vicious things I think and feel about him. He could have back-up with him. I’ve got no idea why he’s here.
I need to be tactical, even as the fire in me roars to be violent.
“No hug for an old friend?” He spreads his arms and drops them a moment later. “Okay, Killian. I get it.”
“What do you want?”
“To see an old friend.”
I take a step forward, close enough to smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. He grimaces like he’s getting ready to start exchanging shots, but he holds himself upright with dignity.
“Cut. The. Crap.”
He laughs like the criminals often did back in the boxing days. It’s the sort of laughter that says, I’m laughing away your disrespect, so I don’t have to kill you.