Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
My hand curls around the biggest kitchen knife we’ve got just as the door swings open. Clutching the knife tighter in anticipation, I position myself ready to fight.
Cara strides through the door, her stare locked on her Kindle, only glancing up as she hears the loud sigh of relief escaping from my lips. “HOLY FUCK,” I breathe, letting the knife clatter to the kitchen counter. “You scared the shit out of me.”
She gapes at me, her Kindle falling down by her side. “I . . . me?” she demands, her voice hitching up higher. “Where the fuck have you been? I thought you were laying in a ditch somewhere. I was about ready to call the cops. I mean, damn girl. I’m all down for getting so fucked up you can’t remember your name, but if you’re going to go out on a bender and not come home all weekend, the least you could do is let me know so I’m not worried about you.”
I shake my head, bracing my hands against the counter and giving myself a moment to just breathe. My heart continues to race, but with every slow exhale, I finally start to find some peace. “What day is it?”
“It’s Monday,” Cara laughs, kicking the door closed behind her and moving across our small apartment. “Just how big was that bender?”
“God, I wish it was a bender.”
“Huh?” she says, pausing by the counter to glance back at me. “What do you mean? If it wasn’t a bender, then where the hell have you—” Her eyes open wide, a grin stretching across her face. “Oh my God, you little hussy. You were with a guy.”
My night with Dalton flashes back to me, and I can’t deny just how good it was. My wrists tied around the pole, his authoritative demands making me wet, the way he had me on my knees. Good God, it was everything . . . right up until his gut-wrenching betrayal.
“Oh, I was shacked up with a guy, alright,” I mutter. “But it’s really not what you think.”
“Eh,” she grunts, her lips twisting with disappointment. “You better not be holding out on me. I just spent all night reading the dirtiest filth I’ve ever gotten my hands on with no way to scratch that itch.”
“What?” I say, glancing up at her, the realization that it’s barely seven in the morning and she was only just walking through the door. “What do you mean no way to scratch that itch? Where were you last night?”
“Oh, umm . . . I had a family thing and stayed at my brother’s apartment downtown, and I wasn’t about to pet the kitty in his spare bed, you know what I mean? But,” she says, “it sounds a lot like you’re trying to change the topic. Who’s this guy you’re talking about?”
“Not guy,” I grumble. “Guys.”
Her jaw drops and she looks at me as though I’ve just lived her raunchiest, wildest dreams. “Oh, hell yeah, girl. Fuck me. You really are a little hussy, aren’t you?” She pulls up a chair, looking at me with wide eyes. “Tell me everything, every last juicy detail.”
“What the hell have you been smoking?” I say with a scoff. “I didn’t get railed by four psychopaths, I got kidnapped and held hostage in a fucked-up little cement prison.”
Her brows furrow as she stares back at me. “Okay, now who’s been smoking?” Without a word, I hold up both of my hands to show my bandaged wrists and watch as her face falls. “You’re . . . you’re not making this up.”
“Trust me. I really wish I was. One minute, I was standing in the hallway unlocking our door after working Saturday night,” I tell her, skipping over the rooftop fuckfest, “the next I know, I was knocked out and thrown in a cell.”
“Shit,” she breathes, wide eyed. “What happened? Who did this to you?”
“Who do you think?” I tell her. “Our creepy as fuck neighbor and his turd-tastic friends.”
“Zade?” she questions, shaking her head. “No, he’s intense, but surely he wouldn’t do something like this. Are you sure—”
I straighten from the counter, my gaze narrowing on my roommate, suspicion pulsing through my veins. “You told me you didn’t know his name.”
Her gaze falls away, dropping to her hands. “Oh, umm . . . yeah. When you didn’t come home yesterday, I asked around the neighbors. Someone mentioned his name. Clearly we’re not the only ones who have noticed something . . . different about him.”
I watch her a moment longer, unease laying rigid in the pit of my stomach. I want to be able to trust my roommate, but I can’t help feeling as though she’s hiding something. She hasn’t given me any reason not to trust her yet, so I feel as though I should give her the benefit of the doubt. It doesn’t sit right with me though.