Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
A doctor? At his home?
My eyes drifted down over his jeans, pearl-snap shirt, and leather jacket. He didn’t dress like a man who could get a doctor to his home. Lifting my gaze back up—taking in the short beard that didn’t mask his chiseled jaw, messy dark blonde hair that was pulled back in some knot or bun, and the tattoo that was peeking out from the neckline of his shirt—I realized he didn’t look anything like the men I knew that came to this place. The price tag on the membership alone was steep.
“You’re taking her there without talking to Linc?” the other guy asked him.
A smirk touched his lips, causing his eyes to lighten slightly from the dark, intense gleam they’d had since he’d knelt down in front of me. “Since when do I ask Linc shit? Go get the truck, bring it closer. She’s in pain, and the less I have to move her, the better.”
My gaze swung toward the road that I’d planned to eventually escape to. Was that even something I’d be able to do? I couldn’t move my body an inch without crying out. But leaving with a stranger who looked like some sexy biker who wasn’t on the right side of the law didn’t sound smart.
He lowered himself until his eyes were level with mine again.
“All right, sugar, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he said as he pulled a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket and opened it. “You’re going to take several long swigs of this, and then I’m going to pick you up. It’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch, but it’s the only way to get you some help.”
I shivered, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from the man speaking.
“I…I don’t kn-know y-you,” I stammered.
The corner of his lips quirked, but like before, he didn’t smile. Not really.
“Maybe not but I don’t see you got any other choice,” he said, holding the flask out to me.
I stared at it. He could be drugging me.
“I’m not gonna lie and promise you I’m a good man,” he said. “But I’m not the kinda fucked-up monster that hurts a woman.”
Right now, that was the better of my two options. Reaching out, I took the flask, placed it to my lips, and drank it down. The burn was foreign to me, and I coughed as I held it out for him to take it.
“Good girl. Just one more,” he urged.
Blinking, I stared at him. He’d praised me. That was as foreign as the burn from what I assumed was the whiskey I’d just drunk. I’d spent years trying to earn my father’s approval but failed. Even when I did everything he had ever asked of me. Yet this man was praising me for simply taking a drink from his flask.
Like a child eager to please, I took it and downed more of the horrid liquid.
One
Luther
I had seen death a lot in my life. I knew the signs. The woman in my arms wasn’t in danger of kicking it, but damn if I wasn’t watching her chest rise and fall with each breath like a psycho. Either her pain tolerance was low or she had more than a cracked rib or two because the moment I had picked her up, she’d let out a strangled cry, then passed the fuck out. It was normal. Pain could do that to someone. But panic had set in, and I couldn’t seem to get it under control.
“She still breathing?” Locke Bowen asked me as he glanced over at her before turning his eyes back on the road. He sounded nervous.
At least I wasn’t alone in my unfound worry, but then it was Locke. He was more sensitive than me. He was younger, and while he’d seen shit, he hadn’t lived it for almost half a century.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“How bad do you think it is?”
I cut my eyes over at him as he sat behind the wheel of my truck. He was awfully curious. We didn’t know who the hell this woman was. If we’d been at a regular strip club, then it wouldn’t have been so surprising. But Sovereign House was an elite gentlemen’s club with nothing but one percenters inside. They were mostly wealthy men who sought their pleasures somewhere that wouldn’t get back to their wives. And this female in her high-neck blouse, cardigan, straight pencil skirt, and dainty fucking boots was not one of the women inside the place. There were no rooms at the Sovereign for a Sunday school kink.
“She’ll live,” I replied finally as she did a stuttering breath that had me tensing up and lifting her head as if that was going to help her inhale.
“Do we need to call Linc and let him know we’re bringing her?” he asked.