Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Blackout throws down his cards and pushes back his chair. “Finally! Let's go. I’m fucking starving and this place stinks.”
Pulling the kid by the neck, I drag him back to his cell and toss him in there. He flinches when the steel door slams, but more than anything, he looks relieved he’s still alive.
Ghost waves us along. “Go talk to Hellfire. I’ll clean up and make sure everything’s locked tight.
“Thanks.” As I walk out, an eerie shiver crawls down my spine. I'm not fucking superstitious, but I've learned to trust my gut, and my gut's telling me this shit’s gonna get fucking ugly.
8
WILLOW
I haven’t had this much fun writing in years, even with my head feeling like it’s stuffed full of old socks after the party last night. I squirm in my chair, feet tucked under my butt. There’s a dull throb behind my left eye, and I've had to pee for the last half hour, but the words are flowing and I refuse to stand up and break the spell. My heroine Rachael has gotten lost on the wrong side of town, and the only ones around to help her are the three hot but suspicious men that moved in next door.
In my first draft the three men had only been one guy, and I’d been planning on revealing that he was really an undercover police officer, but… It’s fiction, right? Why not just let bad boys be bad?
Right?
Hopefully Colleen agrees, because my muse is set on a very specific path right now.
Outside in my backyard, a shirtless Skyhigh is taking measurements of the garden. He showed up about ten minutes ago and it’s getting harder and harder to focus. My eyes keep sliding over to the window when I need to concentrate on Rachael getting shoved up against a wall and kissed until she can’t think, let alone resist. My cheeks flush as I write and rewrite the scene. This is the point where old Willow would have let the curtains close and left everything up to the readers’ imagination, but this is new Willow and new Willow has to figure out how to get filthy without dying of embarrassment.
She could feel his—what? Cock? Noooo, too much. Steely hard satin length—gag, too flowery. Penis—absolutely not.
I snap my laptop shut and push away from my desk. As soon as I stand up, every single part of my body screams for attention at the same time. I rush to the bathroom, feet full of pins and needles, and grab a painkiller when I’m done, re-filling my water bottle on the way back to my desk.
The spare bedroom that I use for an office has a good view of the whole yard, and I sip my water while I watch Skyhigh poke around. The sun has just come around the side of the house, dappling the ground as the light filters through the old maple trees that dominate my yard. Watching safely from a distance, I can stare as much as I want, and one thing is clear, he’s very easy on the eyes. Clearly he works out, but not in a bulky musclehead way, just… a classically gorgeous body. His jeans hug his butt like they’re suffering from separation anxiety. I wet my lips.
Should I offer him something to drink? After crashing their party last night and some of the things I saw and did, offering him a cup of coffee or a soda should be easy. But do I just pretend the last thing I said to them was that I didn’t think sex was all that? And that I don’t remember them offering to show me I’m wrong?
I squeeze my eyes shut and whimper in utter mortification.
Pull yourself together, Willow. You’re both grown adults. Just go ask if he wants something.
Like me.
No! To drink. Yeah, to drink.
The backdoor rattles when it swings closed behind me. Skyhigh looks up. As soon as he sees me, his face lights up, that sexy smile of his spreading like I just made his day. When's the last time someone looked at me like that?
He raises a hand and waves. “Morning. How's your head? Feeling okay?”
“A little mushy, but other than that I'm fine, thanks. What are you doing? I didn’t know you were going to start already.” I tug on the bottom of my t-shirt. Should I have changed? I’m so used to walking around in my usual work uniform of athleisure that it didn’t even occur to me. I’m not even wearing shoes. I dig my toes into the grass self-consciously.
“Just taking some measurements. You said you wanted to clear out a couple beds and I was thinking it would be best to get some lumber to raise them up a little and create a border so it wouldn’t be a pain in the ass to mow.” He types some notes into his phone and slides it into his pocket.