Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Her chest puffs and she shoots me a condescending look. “Because he’s a fucking arsehole, obviously.” And now she goes back to furiously picking at her nails.
“Yeah…” I trail off. I can’t help but think that she looks so damn young. She’s too fucking young to be thrown to a pack of wolves like this. She’s like Daniel in the proverbial lion's den, except no angel would set foot in this house to save her.
I tap my fingers over the comforter. “All I know about you is that your name is Victoria.”
“Ria,” she corrects me.
I laugh. “I’m not calling you Ria. That sounds like a fucking name you’d give a bird. I think I’ll just call you Tor.”
“That sounds like a bloody stripper. Just don’t call me anything.” She narrows her eyes suspiciously, changing the subject. “We both know that you’re not going to let me go, not unless Euan pays, and that hasn’t materialized.” She lifts a brow at me, daring me to say otherwise.
Slowly, I sit on the bed, keeping my distance from her, but even at that she presses her body harder against the headboard to keep as much space between us as possible. “I would like to, but I have to make sure I can trust you first.”
Fuck, I’m not going to let her go. I’m telling her I need to trust her, and I know damned well she’s not going anywhere.
“Of course, you, the criminal, need to be able to trust me, the normal, law-abiding girl you kidnapped. Makes perfect sense.”
That comment of hers sends my blood pressure through the fucking roof. “I did not kidnap you!” I shout, my voice booming around the room. Her eyes widen at the sudden change in my tone. “I’m not into human trafficking, or taking people as ransom. Fucking stop accusing me. Your dumbass boyfriend gave you as collateral and my stupid lackey took you. I had no idea. You showing up here was just as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”
She gets up and moves to the other side of the room, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at me. “You may not have been the one to take me, but I don’t recall you apologizing and sending me on my merry way, do you?”
“At the moment, I have no other choice,” I say, letting it be known I’m aggravated.
Her stare sets on mine, almost pleading with me. “There is always a choice.” The softness in her eyes turns hard and her brow furrows the longer she glares at me. “Only a weak man refuses to see otherwise.”
She is brave to call me weak. I wet my lips with the edge of my tongue, and can feel my eyes harden. “Only a weak man shoves an innocent woman to a fucking criminal to save his own ass.” I cock a brow at her. “Don’t insult me. Not a wise decision on your part, trust me,” I warn.
“You’re preaching to the choir when it comes to Euan and his lack of testicles. And I know well just how much not to test you,” she mumbles, rubbing at her throat.
I try to shove away the memory of having my hands wrapped around her throat, and I settle back against the headboard. “How about you tell me about yourself so I’ll think about letting you go, or you could keep on running your damn mouth and rot in here. I’m just trying to talk to you here.”
She sighs and eyes me. Cautiously, she approaches the bed, her finger trailing over the foot. She perches on the edge of the bed. Her body is still tense, but at least she’s not pressed up against the furthest fucking wall from me.
“Fine, what do you want to know?”
“What do you do for a living?”
Her brows pull together in a frown. “I’m a doctor. I’m...well, I was doing my last year of residency.” Her head bows, and there she goes fidgeting with her hands again.
“A doctor, huh? You one of those wanna-save-the-world girls?” I ask, partly out of genuine interest. I don’t need to fucking know her, but again, I’m curious, and that’s not fucking good.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I always wanted to be a doctor. What greater calling can there be than saving lives?”
Typical answer. That’s well-rehearsed. One side of my mouth curls up and I narrow my eyes on her. “Really? That’s a pretty standard answer on an application to medical school. What really made you want to be a doctor? Do you actually give a shit, or is it just the money?”
Her nostrils flare at my question. That’s evidently a sore subject for her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Fucking Therapist. Everyone needs a job. I worked hard and studied seven bloody years to be a doctor, and yes, I want to earn a fuck-load of money! Problem?”