Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
By stepping in, I inadvertently stopped her from doing what she needed to do, and it prevented me from seeing the truth unravel before me. The universal truth that is the basis of our very human nature—hunt or be hunted.
But I couldn’t let her make that choice.
I had to step in and get that fucker to take his hands off her because I couldn’t let him soil her. I couldn’t allow anyone to because I wanted her all to myself.
And that is where I crossed the line.
I knew it when I first saw her in the car that I’d make this decision, and I knew then I’d end up regretting it. Because this isn’t what we do, what I do.
I watch … I judge … I punish.
But if I succumb to lust, then I become the sinner.
Still, I cannot resist.
When she finally flees that godforsaken place after I told her to, I follow her outside. She can’t be too far up ahead, maybe a couple of steps. But I trail her inconspicuously, blending into the crowd of people partying tonight in this part of town.
She walks right by them, careful not to bump into anyone even though they’re all looking at her because of the way she’s dressed. She didn’t even grab a coat off the rails near the exit of the strip joint. That’s how eager she was to leave … How scared she was of me.
It’s a price I’d gladly pay to keep her out of evil’s hands.
But I have to know, I need to see with my own two eyes, what she’s going to do.
She skids across the pavement like she’s in a hurry to get home, her pale face even whiter than before as though she’s seen a ghost. But I’m not a figment of her imagination. I’m as real as can be. She’s going to wish I was merely a nightmare she could wake up from.
Suddenly, she stops in her tracks, and I wait in an alley, peeking along the building to see what she’s up to.
She pauses near a homeless guy sitting on the streets holding up a tiny bowl to the people walking right by him.
But she didn’t. She saw him, and she stopped.
For a split second, she looks around, so I duck behind a wall, hoping not to be seen.
When I peer at her again, she fishes the wad of cash I gave her from her pocket and stuffs it into the beggar's bowl.
The man looks up at her and smiles, but before he can say a word, she’s already gone.
Whisked away by the wind like a beautiful, thoughtful, generous angel.
And it moves me.
A smile forms on my lips. “Maybe you aren’t such a sinner after all, little angel,” I mutter under my breath.
I didn’t want to follow her, but I couldn’t stop myself.
When I saw her on the streets, I knew she’d be the one.
The one I needed to have.
The one who could break me.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think she’d give that cash I gave her to a homeless man. Loans aren’t easy to pay off and look at what she’s willing to do to straighten out her balance. She sells her body like a whore and doesn’t even mind. Still, she gives away the money I handed her freely as though it means nothing to her.
That little angel is one to keep.
One to admire. One to fear.
Goose bumps scatter on my skin just from the thought.
I know everything I need to know about this beautiful creature, this obsession of mine.
Amelia
On my way back home, I can’t stop looking at all the cars passing by. Every time one of them stops, I feel like they’re following me, or worse, that someone might step out to come and grab me.
I blow out a breath and keep walking, determined not to let the cars distract me. It’s all in my mind anyway. No one’s coming to get me. I didn’t do anything wrong.
But then why can’t I shake this feeling of imminent doom?
Because of that man at the club.
That man who pointed a gun at the head of the guy who was touching me.
It really did a number on me. Thinking about it still makes sweat pool in the small of my back.
I texted my manager that I had to leave because of an emergency. I couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. What was I supposed to say? That a man with a gun threatened us and gave me a stack of cash to leave? He wouldn’t believe a word.
My manager is used to fucked-up customers, but this story would take the cake. No one would pay a waitress to leave. Joe would probably think I didn’t want to work … and I’d get fired.
I’d rather stay quiet and hope it doesn’t happen again.