Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
My body trembles, and my field of vision starts to narrow, but I hear a sharp crack and suddenly the man holding me loosens his grip and goes limp. I hear a meaty thud and see him laying on the ground behind me. My legs give out, and I collapse, half on top of the man who was holding me. The world around me is fuzzy, but I see another large man who looks a lot like Mr Black-coffee-PI, or is his name ‘Berk’, a name that suddenly emerges from somewhere deep within my mind-mush—stepping forward, a gun in his hand.
“Wh—what’s happening?” I say, though I don’t think it’s loud enough for anybody to hear. And I’m not sure I spoke any actual meaningful words.
I watch, seemingly from a great distance, as the PI man presses his gun into Cole’s face.
“Get down on your knees,” he growls.
“Go fuck yourself,” Cole shoots back. “You’re making a big mistake.”
A grin curls the corner of the man’s mouth. “Not the first. Won’t be the last. Now, get down on your fucking knees.”
“Fuck you.”
With lightning speed, the man raises the butt of his weapon and brings it down on Cole’s head with a sharp, vicious crack. Cole slumps to the ground immediately and lies still.
He turns to me, his dark eyes filled with concern.
“Can you stand, Miss?” he asks.
I shake my head. At least, I think I do. He quickly tucks his gun away, then reaches down and scoops me up as if I weigh nothing at all. As my vision grows dark, he slides me into the back of a vehicle—his vehicle, I guess—and slams the door.
My entire world dims, and then goes black.
5
CHAPTER 5
BURKE
Istare out at the ocean as the first rays of morning light glint dazzlingly off the ocean. I’m standing in a doorway, at the rear of my house. Everything happened so quickly last night that I didn’t really think it through. Any of it. Shoving a gun in Cole’s face, pistol-whipping him, bringing Brynn back to my place… I just saw she was in danger and acted without regard for the consequences. Without much thought. And now she’s here, in my guest room, and I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to do about it. Or her.
On the plus side, what I saw last night—what I interrupted last night—pretty much confirms for me that Cole Dosset is indeed in the business of trafficking women. Why else would he have ambushed, drugged and tried to abduct Brynn? I still have no concrete proof—Curtis is going to need more than my account of what happened, but knowing for sure that he is a monster is a good start. But more than anything, I’m just glad I got there in time to save her.
“Hello?” Breathy, slight, indistinct. searching.
Brynn’s voice is accompanied by shuffling footsteps. A frown stretches across my lips, knowing I’m going to have to figure out how to explain the situation to her. She steps into the living room and is startled when she spots me. Belatedly, she stares down at herself and sees that she’s wearing nothing more than one of my t-shirts. It’s big enough that it nearly hangs to her knees, making her look almost childlike. Her hair is mussed from sleep, and her cheeks are flushed, bruised, swollen. Her silver-blue eyes widen, and her mouth falls open.
“Wh—what… how…”
Her voice tapers off, and she gives herself a shake, as if to clear her head. No doubt the lingering effects of whatever Cole had injected her with were making her mind fuzzy. I take a sip of my coffee and try to tamp down the torrent of lustful thoughts raging through my head. Standing there in nothing but my t-shirt, she looks sexier than I’ve ever seen her. And all I want to do is pick her up, carry her back to bed, and fuck her senseless.
If I could somehow slip away and take a cold shower, I would. But she’s staring at me, completely perplexed, her lips trembling and her eyes shimmering with tears.
“I remember,” she says quietly. “Last night… you… had a gun. You…”
“He was going to take you,” I say. “Cole Dosset apparently traffics young, beautiful girls.”
“Traffics… girls?”
She looks unsteady on her feet as she absorbs my words, so I cross the room and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. She’s soft and warm and when I breathe in, I can smell her shampoo. It’s something citrusy and sweet. My blood grows hot and rushes down to my crotch, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek—hard—to keep from getting a hard-on standing in front of her.
Clearing my throat, I guide her out of the living room and into the kitchen, where I deposit her on one of the stools, then move around the center island, keeping it between us. It’s mostly to avoid her feeling threatened. But it’s partly to keep her from seeing the front of my jeans bulging as my cock grows inconveniently stiff.