Total pages in book: 266
Estimated words: 250787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1254(@200wpm)___ 1003(@250wpm)___ 836(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 250787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1254(@200wpm)___ 1003(@250wpm)___ 836(@300wpm)
“Going to shoot me, Charlotte?” He arches a brow, but I can hear the laughter in his voice.
I square my shoulders. “In a world where it’s either you or me…I’ll always choose me.”
He stops as the end of the barrel hits his chest, and I glare up at him. “Pull the trigger, doll face.”
“Give me my laptop,” I bark out. He knows I can’t shoot him because then what will I tell the Lords? I’ll be fucked. My assignment isn’t to kill him. Will they give me another one? Will they allow the other Spade brothers to throw me in a cell at Carnage? Hell if I know. But I won’t allow them to punish me for killing him.
“Go ahead and pull the trigger. Make sure you aim for the heart. I’ve survived a bullet to the chest before.”
I’m not surprised that the bastard has been shot. No doubt a woman who he pissed off. “How about your face?” I arch a brow and lift the gun, aiming right between his eyes.
He just stares down at me, the gun shaking in my hands. I’m not nervous or afraid. I’m fucking pissed. “Haidyn—”
He grabs the barrel of the gun and twists it out of my hand. I grind my teeth at the sharp pain that runs up my arm. Wrapping his hand around my throat, he shoves my back into the wall and presses the end of the barrel to my cheek.
I’m gasping glaring up at him. “Second time I’ve taken this from you.” He laughs, and it pisses me off even more. A burning feeling in my chest that I let him win. Again. I just want to stomp my feet and scream at the top of my lungs how much I hate him.
“Third time’s a charm,” I say through gritted teeth, knowing this isn’t the last time I’ll want to kill him.
He steps back and removes the gun from my face. His eyes remain on mine as he pushes back the slide, emptying out the chambered bullet and removes the magazine—which he pockets—then holds it out to me. “Never shoot to wound. Always shoot to kill. And don’t talk too much. Don’t ask questions or explain why you want them dead. Just kill them, doll face.”
My eyes drop to the gun and yank it from his hand, and he turns starting to walk away from me. “Where the fuck is it, Haidyn?” He doesn’t stop walking toward the couch. “Goddammit, Haidyn,” I shout, starting to run after him.
He spins around with a smirk on his face, and I just want to knock it off. So I go to slap him with the gun, but he leans back, forcing me to miss. The momentum spins me around, giving him the perfect opportunity to wrap his arm around my neck, holding my back to his front.
I drop the gun, letting it clank to his marble floor, and reach up, gripping his arm defensively.
“You’re really turning me on, doll face.” He chuckles. “Did you come over because you need to be tied down and fucked in the ass?”
I wiggle, trying to get free, and I can’t miss the feeling of his hard dick pressing against my ass. “Hai—” His arm tightens, cutting off any chance to breathe, let alone talk.
I kick my feet out and try to twist my body out of his hold, but it’s no use. My face pounds, my ears ring, and my chest is on fire from lack of oxygen. My body begins to give out on me, losing its fight, and I go limp.
He lets go of me, and I fall to the floor, my side landing on the gun. I cough, turning onto my back to stare at his high vaulted ceiling with my knees bent.
“Go home, Charlotte,” he orders, sounding far away.
“What…do you want?” I ask, getting to my hands and knees. Fuck, this is not going how I wanted it to.
“Nothing from you,” he answers, not even bothering to look over at me. I’m no longer worth his time. He’s proved his point. Picking up the remote, he turns up the sound on the TV to drown out anything further I might say.
I grab my gun, get to my shaking knees, pick up my purse, and storm out of his house just as fast as I entered, slamming the doors and hoping they fucking break. Getting in my SUV, I begin to cry.
I wipe at the tears angrily because I don’t even have control over my own emotions right now. I hate how weak I get when I’m mad. My father once told me, “Feeling anything is a weakness, darling. No one will take orders from a woman who cries.”
Taking a deep breath, I throw my head back, staring at the starlight headliner inside my Cullinan as I try to get my emotions under control. Closing my eyes, I count to ten, taking a few deep breaths until I feel like I can think clearly.