Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
My worth is in the roll of my hips, the pout of my lips.
Or better yet, the physical assets—cars, homes, bank account—of my current owner.
All those lies fled while I tried my damndest not to look over my shoulder.
Maybe Monique is right. I’m too old for him.
I stopped dead in my tracks. The wind rustled over my dark brown skin. Okay, that has to be a lie. A lie I told myself? While I looked over my shoulder in fear of Aleksandr—and who am I kidding, to ensure Jamie hadn’t stopped following me—I realized I didn’t have any enemies nearby. No enemies but myself inside my head.
I glanced back. My eyes consumed this man in greedy bits. Chest. Abs. That darn hair flowing as he didn’t break pace. Jamie lifted his brow in question.
As I turned back around, my foot caught onto a piece of driftwood. The sound of my yelp mingled with the distant call of seagulls.
“Jordyn—”
“I’m okay,” I croaked, pride more wounded than it’s ever been.
Instead of continuing to charge up the shore, where an incline led home, I aimed for the street. Fog covered the area, and I couldn’t see too far ahead of me. Since the street was practically dead, so early in the morning in a touristy town, I darted over East Cabrillo Boulevard. Halfway across the major street, honking broke out.
Jamie bit off a cussword as I sprinted onto the curb across the street. With the vehicles passing, the fog swooshed, and I discerned his figure in the center divider.
“JorJor, wait for me, please!”
Still not my name. I bypassed the beachfront stores and took a side street. Not ready to stop running through this ghost town. Since Santa Barbara was a tourist attraction area, people at the hotels hadn’t come out yet, and restaurants and lounges hadn’t opened.
At least when I ran hard, my brain didn’t have a say. Didn’t get to run amuck with Jordyn ain’t—
A dark figure lunged at me from the fog and shadows. I barely had time to scream as a rough hand grabbed my arm, yanking me off balance.
I stumbled, panic clawing my throat faster than I hit the ground. Hard. My chin bounced off the stone.
“Let go of me!” I shouted, twisting fiercely. It felt like a distillery of every alcoholic drink known to man dropped on my chest. In a flash, his hips slipped between my thighs. The stench could knock me unconscious, and a hand, scented of urine and dirt, covered my lips. Teeth bit through my sports bra. Unbearable, excruciating pain. This. Can’t. Be. Happening. Suddenly, my old life returned with a vengeance. Silently, I bit back tears.
No! I didn’t have to sit still and take this.
My reflexes kicked in. And I bucked my hips upward. The frail transient held on.
“Jamie!” I called out, issuing a one-two punch. Cross hook.
The man gripped my neck and forced the back of my head—
“Jordyn!” Jamie’s voice sliced through the fog. A second later, a tennis shoe connected with the homeless man’s face with a satisfying crunch. My attacker flew to the side and landed on his shoulder. The man, whose skin was so sullied with dirt, I couldn’t even tell his race, got up, his eyes crazed like a mad dog. Jamie pulled me up, forearm sliding over my midriff to position me behind him.
Too short to even see over Jamie’s shoulder, I peeked around the side of him. “Jamie, he’s got a knife.”
With a flick of his wrist, the man produced a switchblade. He swung the knife in an outward arc. Jamie pivoted to the side and countered with a fist to the man’s jaw. The knife rattled to the ground. Jamie’s defensive moves were fluid and powerful and made a surge of strength flow through me.
No longer rooted to the ground in fear, I rushed to grab the knife. Jamie did the same with the man’s throat. Picked him up. While the man swung out, Jamie’s hand clutched tighter.
My stomach did a flip at the homeless man’s guttural sounds.
The fists that swung, which hit Jamie more playfully than anything, stopped. The man switched his tactic and tried to dig his filthy nails into Jamie’s hand. Blood began to draw over the soft spot between Jamie’s thumb and index. Still choking him out, Jamie pulled the man’s face close. His Scottish accent was thicker than honeyed molasses. “You might not know it since it seems you’ll go after what does not belong to you. But I take care of wot is mine.”
As if satisfied with getting the whispered threat off his chest that chilled me to the core, Jamie swung at the man. Fist torpedoed the transient’s face, a punching bag. He then threw the man back into the alley where he came from.
When he spun around and looked at me, my first instinct was to hide. He saw … how men treated me. He couldn’t desire a woman with my history. Used. Abused. The frigid air magnified the chilling sensations of that stranger’s revolting saliva and the bites. Nausea swirled in my gut. My eyes hit the ground in shame. You’re trash, Jordyn.