Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
“What time do you get off?” he asks, leaning forward.
He’s sitting in the middle of the booth, between his other two friends, and I’m glad he’s not close enough to touch me. I hug the tray to my torso, hiding my body from his eyes. “We’re not allowed to go out with customers.”
Before the guy who’s hitting on me can say anything else, his friend who’s closest to me scoffs. “Are you fucking serious?”
I step back a bit and lie, “Uh, yeah. My boss doesn’t like us to fraternize with the guests.”
The friend scoffs again. “This is a fucking strip club, sweetheart. Fraternization is in the job description.”
It gets my back up. “Well, it’s not in mine, so if you don’t have anything else you want to order, I’ll be going now.”
I’m ready to do just that when the other friend—not the one who hit on me or even the one who just got upset about me saying no—grabs hold of my wrist and stops me. While he looks the same as the other two, dress shirt and a tie, his dark hair slicked back and polished, he’s bigger than his friends and I’m not going to lie, his size strikes a chord of fear in me. I know we’re in a crowded club and there’s security and all that, but these situations are always so scary to me.
“Can you please let go of me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice stern.
He tightens his grip instead. “My friend here asked you a question and you blew him off. Not a very good idea for a waitress who makes most of her money via tips.”
I fist my hand in his grip. “Look, I don’t want you to touch me. Can you just—”
“Let her go.”
I freeze at the voice coming from behind me. It’s rough and thick. Too calm and somehow still threatening. It sends my heart pounding in my chest. It sends those butterflies in my tummy careening, beating their wings viciously. And despite all the chaos and the mayhem in my body, his arrival, at last, lets me breathe easy.
Thank God he’s here. Thank God he’s safe.
Although my relief only lasts for a second when I sense him move behind me. He’s so close that I can feel his heat. I can feel the strength of his chest, his anger as he growls, “Let her the fuck go.”
And then he steps to the side, coming into my view, and leans over the guy holding my hand captive. Before I can blink, or any of us can, he strikes his arm out and wraps his fingers around my captor’s neck, continuing, “Or lose your hand.”
While the guy’s eyes get wider, he finally loosens his hold enough that I’m able to snatch my hand back before turning to Shepard. His face is hard and angry, harder and angrier than I’ve ever seen before, and he’s yet to let the other guy go.
Before I can ask him to, he murmurs, almost in a casual voice, “Or maybe option three: you lose it anyway.” His fingers tighten around the guy’s neck as he continues, “Because you had the fucking audacity to touch her when she didn’t want you to.”
The guy is shaking as he sputters, “I-I didn’t… She… You’re… You’re the Wrecking T-Thorn, aren’t you?”
His other friends chime in as well, simultaneously afraid and awed, but I don’t care about what they’re saying. All I care about is Shepard and getting him away before he does something drastic in the middle of a crowded club.
“Shepard, please,” I say, grabbing the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Let him go. Just let him go, please.”
I notice his biceps bulging as he addresses the douchebag who grabbed me, “Yeah, I am. Maybe I can show you why they call me that.”
Before the guy can utter anything else, I pull at Shepard’s sleeve, trying to dislodge his grip. But even with two hands, all I can do is barely shake him. “Shepard, no. Please. Just let him go. Let him go.”
He finally turns to me, his eyes dark and narrowed, almost drugged with bloodlust. “He touched you.”
“I don’t care,” I tell him, and I truly don’t.
His nostrils flare in anger and if anything, my words have made him angrier. “He shouldn’t have touched you. You didn’t want it.”
If he won’t move away from the guy and come to me, I’ll go closer. I’ll plaster my body against his, telling him with every inch of it that all I want is him, not his anger on my behalf. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”
“He needs a lesson,” he insists, his eyes still clouded over.
I let go of his sleeve and cup his jaw, ignoring everything, the choking sounds coming from the guy, the gasps of his friends at the table as I say, “No, he doesn’t. Let him go. Please. For me. Do it for me.”