Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
A few minutes later the shower turns off and the door slides open. I keep my gaze aimed at my boots, using every ounce of willpower I possess not to glance up at her.
“Did you see the towel?” I ask.
“Yes.”
When I do look up, she’s wrapped in the oversized towel, her wet hair falling down her back and dripping onto the floor.
The second I walk past her, she jumps away from me. I grab another towel from the closet, and circle my finger in the air. “Turn around.”
She does as ordered, her body remaining tense as she nervously glances at me over her shoulder. I gather her thick hair and place it in the towel, rubbing it to dry the excess water from it. I skim down her exposed back, stopping on the rounded curve of her ass.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
I swallow hard. What the hell am I doing? “You’re dripping all over my floor,” I tell her as I twist the towel around the ends of her damp hair and toss it over her shoulder. “Take it. I don’t want puddles all over the fucking place.” I try to sound as annoyed as possible.
She’s quiet as I lead her down the hall to my room. I stand in the doorway and point to the dresser. “Find something to put on.”
I start to leave, but catch myself. This girl’s going to tear my fucking room apart looking for something to kill me with, probably. Chuckling at the thought, I go to my closet and grab the gun stashed on the top shelf, tucking it under my arm. I move on to the nightstand and collect my pistol, then grab the gun hidden beneath the mattress. I eye her as I head to the door, smirking. “Before you get any bright ideas and accidentally shoot yourself,” I say as I shut the door, locking it with the key.
“Arsehole!” I barely hear her shout as I make my way down the stairs.
He slams the door in my face, a smug smirk on his lips.
“Arsehole!” I shout after him.
I pace across the room. The last place on earth I want to be right now is in Jude’s room. I swear to God, that guy is bipolar. One minute he’s screaming at me and degrading me, the next he’s drying my hair. I get whiplash just from being around him. Quite frankly, I’d rather he just remained an arsehole. I can take his temper more easily than I can take his kindness, not that I have to deal with it very often.
I scour his room, curious more than anything. I go to the dresser and pull open one of the drawers, half expecting to find an arsenal of weapons, but oh, no, he gutted the place because I can’t be trusted not to shoot myself. Prick. I take a t-shirt out of the drawer and pull it over my head, dropping the towel. The material smells of him, without the added cigarette smoke. Clean and crisp without the taint of corruption that he carries like a bad smell. I can’t find any shorts, so I settle for boxers, which weirds me out, because the only time I’ve ever worn a guy’s boxers is after I’ve had sex with him.
I survey the room, looking for clues about the man who lives here. There are very few. A picture of two women sits on the bedside table, but other than that it’s bare, impersonal, almost unlived in.
I move to the window, pulling back the curtain to allow some light into the dingy man cave, only to find bars across the glass. Are you fucking kidding me? Fucking bars! This place is literally a jail. I suddenly feel claustrophobic, trapped and enclosed. I’m stuck in this room, his room. What happens when he comes back? I’ve been in a room with this guy all of three times. The first time he strangled me, the second he force fed me, and the third he stripped me naked like the fucking pervert he is. I thought he was going to start having a wank right there in front of me. The man is an animal, a filthy, disgusting animal. Oh, God, where am I going to sleep? I’m not sharing that bed with him. What if he tries to touch me? I saw the look on his face earlier, he’s going to try and touch me. My chest feels tight at the prospect. If he wants me, he can have me, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. He’s three times my bloody size, and I’m defenceless.
My eyes skitter across the room, searching for something, anything. There must be something in here. The guy has more weapons than a military regiment. I start frantically opening drawers. There must be a gun in here, a knife, something. I glance at the bathroom doorway, spotting the mirror hanging on the wall. Could I smash it? Use a shard of glass? No, too obvious. I don’t want to attack him unless I have to. Weapon or not, the likelihood is that I will lose.