Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104403 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She knew that voice. Panic flooded her system, fast and blinding in its strength. Her legs trembled, and her chest heaved as she struggled to think. The world narrowed, sounds muffled by the rush of blood in her ears.
Stay calm. Breathe. Don’t panic.
The hand left her hair, but relief only lasted two seconds. Demo twisted her arm behind her back and jerked it upward. White-hot pain shot through her shoulder, forcing her onto her toes.
“You’re not exactly in the position to make demands, princess.”
If she never heard that fucking nickname again, it’d be too damn soon.
“What the fuck do you want?” She gasped as he jerked her, sending another burst of pain screeching across her shoulder.
“Just a little chat.”
“Yeah? Sounds good. How about we head to our clubhouse? We can chat there all you want.”
He laughed. “Shit, princess, you’re funny. I think I like you. That’s too bad.”
A large white van backed into the alleyway.
Fear slammed into her, cold and absolute.
Don’t get in the car.
Don’t ever let them get you in the car.
That was ‘How Not to Die 101.’
“But I think we’ll have a better time at my place.”
“Fuck no.” She fought him with everything she had, kicking, thrashing, and screaming, pain be dammed. Her heel connected with something solid, and he cursed, loosening his grip just enough.
She broke free and managed two frantic steps before he tackled her from behind, sending her crashing to the ground.
Gravel tore into her palms and knees. She barely felt it over the adrenaline surging through her veins.
“That was fucking stupid,” he snarled. His hot breath wafted across her face, stale and acrid. “I don’t think I like you anymore.”
The second his heavy weight moved off her, Beth pushed herself up, breath ragged and vision swimming. She would not stop. She would not—
His palm cracked across her face.
Stars burst behind her eyes. Her ears rang as her head snapped to the side.
A thick arm locked around her throat.
“No!” She croaked as her air supply disappeared in a brutal burst of pain. She attacked him, scratching mindlessly and kicking with weak jerks, but her strength drained fast.
Black crept in at the edges of her vision.
Saint was going to freak out.
If only she could have told him she loved him one more time.
As shadows engulfed her, she conjured the image of Saint’s face to keep her company in the darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HIGH-PAYING JOBS like today’s almost made Saint feel guilty for accepting the hefty payout.
Almost.
Then he remembered countless jobs he’d completed for peanuts and how he’d been spat on, screamed at, chased by dogs, and once had to flee an axe-wielding grandma in her bathrobe and curlers. For every clean recovery he completed, he suffered through a half dozen miserable ones, so he’d take the fat paycheck and sleep well tonight.
Once he dropped the Lambo at the impound lot, he headed straight home to file the recovery report. If he’d remembered to bring his laptop, he could have finished the report at Beth’s salon, but he’d been too distracted by her ass in the tiny denim shorts she loved to remember a damn thing.
His house already bore many signs of Beth’s influence on his life. Her favorite blanket, one she’d received as a Christmas gift a few years ago, sat folded on the back of the couch because she consistently complained that he kept his house colder than the refrigerator. Her toothbrush and skincare products littered his bathroom counter, and the mug she loved sat in his sink, ready to be cleaned and used for tomorrow’s morning coffee.
Fuck, he was turning into a goddamn sap because he loved seeing the signs of Beth all over his space.
Hopefully, one day soon, they would officially call it their space.
He shot off a quick text to Beth, letting her know he’d be back at the salon after he finished this report. She didn’t respond, but he didn’t expect her to. By now, she probably had her gloved hands elbow deep in a bucket of sudsy water.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d filed the report. By morning, there’d be a fresh four thousand dollars in his account. Not bad for a few hours of work. Tomorrow, he had three repo jobs lined up, but the rest of the day, he planned to spend helping Beth and Screw with whatever they needed. Beth had spoken to Screw multiple times since the incident with Copper at the clubhouse, but Saint had not. No one would ever describe Screw as judgmental about relationships. Hell, the guy had been in a throuple for more than a decade, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t on Copper’s side when it came to Beth’s relationships.
She’d assured him they had nothing to worry about when it came to Screw, Gumby, or Jazz, but Saint wouldn’t be able to relax until he verified for himself.