Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
By the time I’d strode into Tank’s, I’d known what I was going to do and I’d looked forward to it. I’d slapped all the money I had in my pocket down on the bar and had grabbed the first bottle of alcohol I could find. I hadn’t protested in the least when Tank had insisted on taking my car keys. I’d already been scanning the decent-sized crowd of men for the guy I’d wanted.
He’d been easy to find. He’d been holding court on the far side of the room. On his lap, he’d had a small, blond twink who hadn’t looked anywhere near old enough to be in a bar, let alone a place like Tank’s. The guy with the greasy, stringy ponytail and biker-style beard and mustache had been crudely fondling the kid. I’d never been fucked by the biker wannabe, at least as far as I knew anyway, because he’d always been on the wrong side of the line between good rough fucking and bad rough fucking.
I’d ordered the twink to move. My demand had caught the biker off guard enough that he’d released the kid who’d scrambled off his lap and disappeared into the crowd. I straddled the biker’s lap and wrapped my arms around his neck.
My intent had been to kiss him, but my mouth had bypassed his all on its own and brushed up against his ear instead. A few whispered words, some heavy grinding against his hard-on, and several drags of alcohol, and it was done.
He was mine.
My own hard-on had been long gone by the time I’d reached the club. I’d hoped dry humping biker guy would have relit that fire inside of me that Cass could ignite with just words, but there’d been nothing.
No spark.
No erection.
No pleasure.
A small part of me had wanted to get up and leave. To walk out of that club and never return. But I’d needed a different kind of escape that only liquor and the ugly, rough, foul-smelling, ponytailed biker could give me.
I couldn’t remember much after that. There’d been a lot of strange hands grabbing different parts of my body and biker guy had tried to force me to kiss him, but I’d simply used the bottle in my hand as a shield. We’d been moving after that and then everything got hazy. There’d been catcalls and words of encouragement, but they hadn’t been aimed at me. I’d been pelleted with ugly names and promises of how good it would feel when this guy fucked me and the other guy shot his load down my mouth. By then I’d already started to leave my body so I could float through that delicious cloud of quiet.
Whatever had happened after that only came to me in bits and pieces.
The smell of rotting garbage, cool air against my ass, warm liquor sliding down my throat.
God, what the hell had I done?
I rubbed my face with my hands. I didn’t feel any crusted semen around my mouth, my ass didn’t hurt, and there wasn’t any spunk inside of me, so either I’d been clear-headed enough to clean myself up or…
Or someone else had done it for me. I automatically looked down and saw that I was wearing a pair of sweats and a loose-fitting T-shirt. I didn’t have any underwear on, and my hair was damp.
Had my brother cleaned me up when I’d gotten home? If so, why wasn’t I in my room?
Get your ass out of bed and find out why, you asshole.
The voice was the same one that had tried to tell me to walk out of Tank’s the second I’d handed free use of my body over to biker guy.
This time I listened. It took a while to get my aching body moving. It felt like I’d been run over by a semi. Every muscle burned; every bone ached.
I stumbled to the nearest window and saw nothing but green.
Everywhere.
Pine trees.
Pine trees weren’t something one saw a lot of in Los Angeles.
“Where the fuck am I?” I breathed. I went to look through the first open doorway and saw that it was a small bathroom. I made use of the toilet and then went to check out the second doorway.
I was greeted with a small landing attached to a wooden staircase. Even with a handrail, I wasn’t sure I’d make it down the steps in one piece.
Since I didn’t have a lot of options… or any, really, I began my descent. I really wanted my gun because I had a bad feeling about what—or rather, who—I’d find on the lower floor. I told myself over and over that it would be my brother who greeted me and then explained what the hell had happened and where the fuck we were.
The first floor of what I assumed was a cabin was just as barren as the bedroom. Even though I didn’t have my gun, I cleared each room slowly as if I were armed.