Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 35933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
“I’m going to rip your dick off,” I snarled, pushing back from the bar and standing.
He winked at me. “Don’t tease me with a good time, mama.”
I turned and stormed for the garage, where our bikes were being kept so they were hidden from anyone snooping around or spying on Alejandro’s place. “Go fuck yourself, Blayke.”
“I do that every night and morning since you stepped into my life,” he called from behind me.
Christ. I pushed open the garage door and tugged my keys from the pocket of my black cargo pants.
I hated that I was both annoyed and turned on by him at the same time. How the fuck was that even possible?
Blayke took a bite of his breakfast—migas—as he stared at me. I tried ignoring his staring, biting into my breakfast burrito, but I swore the longer I tried to ignore him, the more intense his staring got. Finally having enough, I set my burrito down and glared at him. “Do you have a fucking staring problem? You’re ruining my breakfast.”
He cocked his head to the side the tiniest bit, reminding me of a dog when they heard a squeaky toy. I almost snorted at the comparison because Blayke was one hundred percent a golden retriever type of man. “I can’t admire a pretty woman?”
My heart fucking melted. Why the hell did he have to be so sweet? I was trying so damn hard to play hard to get. To make him work for it. But he was making it even more difficult to push away his advances. He was smooth with his words, even when he sounded like a jackass. And worst of all, it was clear he meant those words.
Blayke was the kind of man that could have any woman he wanted. All he had to do was crook a finger, and she’d come crawling. Yet he was working hard as hell to have me. Me—a nobody. A woman who lived her life in an RV, never settling in one place for too long. Me—a woman who wanted to be an outlaw, regardless of it being what her father wanted or not. I was rough around the edges, callous, and a lot of times, I was downright mean, especially to him.
But for some reason, this crazy as fuck man still wanted me. It was ludicrous.
“You’re staring at me like you want to eat me. Not like you’re admiring me,” I deadpanned.
He smirked then, and fuck, I hated the way my belly swooped with longing for him. He looked hot as fuck when he had that cocky little smirk on his face.
“Maybe I want to eat you,” he rasped. “Migas taste good as fuck, but I’d place money you’d taste even better.”
Jesus.
I opened my mouth to speak, but just then, a group of men strode into the small restaurant we were eating at. I slowly closed my mouth and lowered my head, grabbing my burrito and pretending to eat as I watched them. Tattoos covered their skin, and two white men were with them. And when one of the white men spoke in Spanish, his accent was thick but wrong to be Mexican—like heavily-accented Russian.
Fuck.
“Do not turn because they’ll recognize you,” I said quietly, “but we’ve got company.”
Blayke hummed and forked a piece of egg into his mouth, nonchalant as fuck. “I know.”
I arched a brow at him. “You do?” My voice gave away that I thought he was full of shit.
He snorted. “You think Johnston made me his VP just because we’re friends? Shit doesn’t work like that, mama. He made me his VP because while I’m a goofy son of a bitch, I’m always aware of what’s happening around me. I heard the moment they pulled up outside.”
I gaped at him. “No fucking way.” He’d been flirting with me the entire time.
He snorted. “Yes way. Why do you think I forced you along with me and didn’t send you with Halo or Gidget instead?”
I shot him a deadpan look. “Because you want to be up my ass?”
He chuckled. “I mean, yeah, there’s that. I love being all up your ass, mama.” I rolled my eyes, even as my lips twitched. He had no shame. And I kind of liked that about him. Okay, I really liked that about him. I never had to guess how he felt or where I stood with him. “But no. It’s because I don’t trust anyone to protect you the way I can.” He set his fork down, almost casually, but there was a predatory move to his muscles that told me it wasn’t casual at all. “I need you to pay for this meal.”
“What? Why—”
He stood, and just as he did, chaos erupted. Gunshots exploded. I quickly did as he said, throwing down more than enough money to cover the meal, and then, I was on my feet, my own gun in my hand. And just in time, too. One of the Russians appeared beside Blayke, his gun aimed at Blayke’s temple, but I was faster and sent a bullet straight between his eyes, then shoved Blayke to the side.