Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
I guess she got me good.
Now, I need to think of all the ways I plan to punish her for this.
I’d like to say it taught me a lesson about breaking and entering, but next time, I think I’ll take her phone so she can’t call the police on me. Because what would happen if they saw the blood on my clothes? I would be in serious trouble.
“Call Detective Boston,” I say again as the cop opens the back door of the squad car and motions for me to get in. I follow his direction for the simple fact that it’s cold, and my balls are freezing. He slams the door shut and heads back inside since I’m now locked in the car with nowhere to go. The other officer exits the building with a plastic bag of what I assume are my things.
Goddammit! If they see the blood on my clothes, I’m fucked.
Glancing back to the entryway, I wait for Cora to appear, but the other asshole officer walks out, and the door shuts behind him. The officers climb into the front seats, and they completely ignore me as they start the engine of the squad car and head to the station.
“I need my pants,” I say.
“You’ll get them when we arrive at the station.”
Fucking hell. I sit for a good ten minutes, listening to these two dickheads talk while I freeze in the back seat. When the police car comes to a stop, I watch Boston exiting the station. Leaning over as the car stops, I bang my forehead on the window.
“Stop it. You’ll only hurt yourself,” one of the officers barks.
I’m not worried about hurting myself. When I raise my head, Boston is looking this way, his eyes widening when he realizes who’s in the back of the squad car. He hurries over and immediately opens the back door, bending down to look in.
“Why the fuck are you in the back of a police car?” he asks.
“Breaking and entering,” one of the officers tells him.
I smile when I look up at Boston and say, “I think she likes me.”
He just rolls his eyes and then motions for me to get out. When I’m on my feet, I turn around so he can undo the cuffs.
“Sir, we need to book him.”
I remain quiet as Boston says, “No. You will do no such thing. I will handle this case. Give me his pants, and then fuck off.” I watch as asshole cop number one stands there with his mouth hanging open while the other officer hands Boston my pants, who then passes them to me. I slide them on, covering my cock, and turn to face him.
“Go,” he barks at them. They scurry off, and he looks me up and down. “All this for a woman?” he asks. “And you’re meant to be the sane one.” He laughs.
“I am the sane one compared to you all.”
“Who’s the woman?” Boston asks as I rub my wrists.
“Someone who’s lodged herself under my skin.”
“Is it the same one you got me to get information on?” When I don’t answer, he chuckles. “So, it’s Cora.”
I heave out a sigh. “Yes.”
“Interesting. Haven’t seen you ever take an interest in a woman like this before.”
“I just have to get her out of my system, then it will be all right.”
“Is that the advice you would give your patients?” he questions as we walk to his car.
“No, I would tell them to have no contact with the person.”
“And how is that going for you?”
“Shit,” I mumble.
And he laughs.
Maybe I should too.
TWENTY-SEVEN
CORA
“You’re back,” I say, unimpressed as I glare at him from the opposite side of the threshold. “And you know what a door is and how to knock,” I add.
The man behind him laughs as he leans against the wall.
“You called the police on me,” he accuses.
“You broke into my apartment,” I throw back at him.
“Some would call it an act of love.” He smirks, and his friend coughs. Love? Is he crazy? Surely he is right now.
“Some would say it’s crazy behavior.” I raise a brow, waiting for him to argue back. “And that would be insane coming from someone who is trained to help the crazy in people.” How this man is the highest-paid therapist is beyond me. “Why are you here?” I ask. “Trying to break back in?”
“I used the door this time since I know how angry it makes you when I don’t.” His friend laughs again. “I need the rest of my things,” he says, and it’s then that I notice he’s only wearing his pants.
“I burned them. They were covered in blood,” I tell him, then grab his phone from the console table. “What’s your PIN code?”
He smirks and, without hesitation, says, “Sixty-nine, sixty-nine.” Then he winks. At first, I think he’s joking. I go straight to his photos to see pictures of houses, businesses, and his office space, and then one single picture of me asleep in my bed. “You won’t find any other women in there,” he says, which makes me look up at him and squeeze my eyebrows together.