Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“I’m a direct person. If I wanted to kill you, it would be via more brutal methods than poison.”
My mouth falls open. I’ve always known Jeremy belongs to a criminal organization, but this is the first time I’ve had full comprehension of that.
“What if you drug me to have your way with me?”
He glides his forefinger across the rim of his glass, back and forth, in a cryptic rhythm, as if attempting to hypnotize me.
“It’s more fun when you’re awake. How else will I hear you moaning, gasping, and most importantly, screaming?”
I should be sick to my stomach, and I am, but at the same time, I’m caught in a trance by the subtle change in his tone and expression when he says the last word. By the way his voice deepens and a familiar spark flashes in his usually cold eyes.
It’s the same expression he wore when he pinned me down on the deck until I had nowhere else to go.
Instead of getting trapped in it all over again, I lower my head and cut a small piece of the omelet thingy and throw it in my mouth, fully intent on swallowing without tasting.
But I do taste it and I pause, then take another bite and chew it slowly this time.
Despite the normal ingredients and the canned tuna, there’s something special about it that I can’t put my finger on.
Maybe it is drugs, after all.
So I take another bite and another. Just to make sure.
“You like it?”
I lift my head to find Jeremy swirling the contents of his glass and watching me intently, his plate barely touched.
My ears heat when I realize I’ve almost finished mine.
“It’s not bad,” I say all businesslike, trying to downplay my embarrassment.
Jeremy’s lips twitch and he pushes his plate in my direction. “You can have this, too.”
“I’m not that hungry.”
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t take back his plate either. He plants his elbow on the table, leans his chin against his fist, and continues watching me from the rim of his cup.
The way he looks at me is unnerving. It’s like he wants to devour me instead of the food and then break me. Or maybe both at the same time.
So I focus on the omelet, trying and failing to figure out the special ingredient. Is it spices?
I choke in my haste and Jeremy slides a glass of water in my direction.
Only when I drink half of it and I’m assaulted by the burn do I realize it’s not water.
I cough, spluttering and hitting my chest as the burn settles there. “Why…why the hell would you give me pure vodka?”
He lifts a shoulder. “You were choking.”
“Water is fine.”
“Alcohol is better. You don’t drink much, why?”
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that. I just…don’t like losing my inhibitions.”
“I assume it has to do with drugging being a hard limit?”
I purse my lips, but apparently, that’s all the answer he needs, because he nods all-knowingly. This man is annoyingly observant and when I’m around him, I constantly have this feeling of being under a microscope.
He retrieves his glass and makes a show of drinking right from where my lip marks are.
Usually, that would make me squeamish, but right now, all I can do is stop and stare.
I clear my throat, more to disperse my attention than anything. “What happens after we eat?”
“We’re still eating.”
“I know. I’m asking about what comes after.”
“You need to learn how to live in the moment sometimes. Being too future-oriented will only lead you to the grave.”
“Thanks for the unsolicited advice.”
“You’re welcome.”
“That was sarcasm.”
“I know. Doesn’t suit you, but I digress.”
I eat a mouthful of food and stare at him. “Why do you think you’re an expert on what suits me and what doesn’t?”
“I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I notice telltale signs and patterns. It’s what I do best.”
“Because you’re in the mafia?”
“Because I had to in order to predict the behavior of someone.”
“Someone?”
He raises a brow. “Aren’t you full of questions today? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re interested in me.”
“As if.” I push the empty plate away. “I just want to know who I’m dealing with.”
“You know, you don’t have to make this unpleasant, Cecily. You and I are compatible and share a very specific kink. I can make you feel alive and desired in ways no one else is capable of. I can take away the burden of being socially accepted. It’s all in the palm of your hand if you quit being standoffish and stop fighting me every step of the way.”
“We’re not compatible, Jeremy.”
“How so?”
“You think of me as your toy, someone you can dish out orders to and expect to fall in line, and I just refuse to be that way. You don’t even give me a fair chance to make my own choices.”