Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
I hit send.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Why do I suddenly feel so sick?
This was a mistake.
I get halfway through typing out my rambled response when Laith’s response finally comes through, and before I’ve even finished reading through his message, I quickly delete my text before I accidentally hit send.
Laughing to myself, I put my phone away and try to focus on the report in front of me, but my little freak-out over potentially seeing Laith tonight is screwing with my head.
Bottom line: there shouldn’t have been a problem. There shouldn’t have even been a second of hesitation on my part. Yeah, okay. Knight Slater is every kind of delicious I always knew he would be, but Laith is realistic. He’s safe. He gives me more than what I need and knows where my boundaries are—most of the time. It’s easy with him.
Knight would be nothing but chaos—but a sexy chaos. The kind of chaos that would leave my mother in tatters, and there’s no denying the allure that brings.
What am I even doing weighing the options as though either one of them actually exists? A relationship with Knight isn’t even something that’s on the table. It was a one-time thing. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’s about to get possessive. Though there’s no denying how damn hot that would be. As for Laith, we set our boundaries in cement a long time ago. Neither of us wants anything more than just a casual hookup, so what the hell does it even matter?
Neither of these men pose any kind of threat to my immediate single status, and that’s the way I want to keep it. I don’t want to be tied down . . . Well, at least not metaphorically. I certainly wouldn’t argue if Knight wanted to strap me to his bed and have me in every possible way.
Damn. Now there really are tears rolling down my thighs.
I need to get a grip—or another vibrator.
Standing from my file-covered desk, I stretch out my body and take three quick laps around the empty autopsy table, desperately needing to get my head in the zone. I can’t be thinking about this shit while I’m working. It’s unprofessional, and not to mention, disrespectful to the victims I’m trying to report on. If they knew the filthy thoughts that were rolling through my head while I was trying to work on their case, they’d be rolling in their graves. Well, when they eventually get one, of course. I suppose they’d be rolling in their body bags instead. Though that doesn’t have the same ring to it.
I shake out my hands and mentally bitch slap myself before grabbing the back of my desk chair and preparing to sit back down. Only as I start to lower my body, I hear the familiar sound of an access card being denied on the other side of the morgue door.
My back stiffens as my heart lurches in my chest, and I find myself standing impossibly still. I’ve been on shift for close to seven hours. It’s the longest I’ve lasted over my past few shifts, and after Laith’s texts and my mental flip-flopping over a certain step-uncle’s mega cock, I had almost forgotten to be wary. Yet, with one slight noise, I’m back to being the terrified train wreck that raced out of here just last night.
I’m an idiot. I got too comfortable.
The sound comes again and my stomach sinks. My hands immediately start to shake, and without a single doubt, I know it’s him. The door handle rattles, and an almost silent yelp tears from the back of my throat.
Holy fucking shit.
My gaze darts around the room, trying to figure out a game plan, and when the door rattles even harder, I lose all train of thought. All I know is that I need to get away.
Fat tears spring from my eyes, and when the soft beep of the access card being denied again sounds through the morgue, I bound across the room. Shivers race down my spine, turning my blood to ice, and my stomach knots in agony.
My hands shake uncontrollably as I try to figure out a plan, but I’m at a loss. There’s only one way in and one way out. I’m completely trapped.
As the person on the other side of the door shakes the handle again, I find myself backing up against the refrigeration unit, and without another thought, I whip around, finding the only possible solution. I grip the handle, and with shaky hands, I unlock each unit, trying to find an empty bay, and the moment I do, relief floods my veins.
Fear grasps me in a chokehold as I frantically scramble inside the refrigeration unit, pulling the door closed behind me. I can’t lock it from the inside, but it’s my only chance of survival. If this asshole makes it in here, my only hope is that he’ll look around just long enough to assume I’m not here and leave. But that’s ridiculous, right? My computer is still on, my notes spread across my desk, my phone and water bottle left behind. He’ll know. A man so capable of dissecting a body and removing each organ for his own sick pleasure isn’t a man who overlooks the small things. He’ll know I’m here. The only question is, what will he do once he finds me?