Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Do you understand, Ella?”
“Yes,” I whimper. I want to look at his face so badly, but he’s made it clear I shouldn’t and I don’t want whatever terrible thing would happen to happen if I broke the rule he’s silently imposed.
He releases me, turns me around, and pats my ass one last time. “Go home,” he says. “Now.”
I take a few steps, and then the haze of obedience fades.
I risk more pain to satisfy my curiosity. I turn to look at him, but he has already turned and is walking away. All I see are broad shoulders and dark hair. I think about running after him, but something tells me if I do that, it might be one of the last things I ever do. He wants to hide his face from me, and I know enough about the world to know that forcing a man to show you his true face when he doesn’t want you to is a bad idea.
I walk the rest of the way home with my ass stinging, my pride bruised, but my heart surprisingly light.
I didn’t think there was anyone left in the world to look after me. I figured that part of my life was done. But it seems there is at least one male creature with some interest in keeping me safe.
I don’t like getting my ass whipped by random men, but I think, deep down, I knew I kind of deserved that. I wasn’t paying attention, and whatever the guy behind the dumpster wanted, it wasn’t to smack my ass and tell me to pay attention. Most male attention comes with a crude carnality that is so deeply off-putting as to be disgusting. I have so often felt like I am nothing but a piece of attractively shaped meat to the men I am around. The fact that I have a brain and a personality has more often been an inconvenience that has to be tolerated than something that is appreciated.
That changed with Teddy, though, and when he was killed, I thought that part of my world had forever ended. Maybe it has. Maybe not.
The tattoo thing he said, though? I’m not going to listen to that. I need a new one. There’s something about the process of being inked that feels like being reborn. Doing something permanent, something that involves pain, art, and another person marking me forever… there’s nothing else like it.
That’s why I was scrolling on my phone, trying to decide if I want a custom piece, or if one of the flash tattoos would work for me. I don’t know if another cutesy little baby duck is going to scratch this itch for me. I want something bigger. Maybe a giant duck rising from the ashes like a phoenix, stretched all the way across my back?
Most of my tattoos so far are small, but the pain I am in now demands some painful answer, something that comes from the outside and makes sense of it.
I wonder if I will see him again.
That man who cared enough to intervene when most men would have kept on walking, or worse, watched. He must be a very, very good man. He punished me, he gave me comfort, but he took nothing for himself. Not even a quick grope.
As I walk in my front door, I am aware that there is a smile on my face that has no business being there—and a dampness between my thighs that is even more sinful than the smile.
CHAPTER 3
Leo
I have made a huge mistake.
Once I am certain she is back home unharmed, I return to my private apartment in the city. I have a good view of the park from here, and a sense of lofty privacy that few others can afford.
The family home is cozier, but this space feels more like mine. The family home is full of history and the trappings of generations of wealth. This apartment is sparse, modern, and without decoration. I have what I need, and nothing else. Once a week a woman comes in to clean. She changes the sheets, cleans the bathrooms, vacuums the floors, wipes the surfaces and leaves. There is rarely anything to tidy. I despise clutter and objects. I like a clear mind, and I find a clear space facilitates that.
I can think of nothing but Ella Chick. The way she looked. How much smaller than me she was. How curvy she really is. How her ass felt underneath my hand when it made sharp contact with it.
There’s more, too. The rage I felt when I saw an unworthy wretch lunge for her as if she was just anybody’s woman. She belonged to Teddy. She was his. And that means she is mine. I think I killed him. I hope I did. I did not bother to check if he was alive or not, and by now there is a good chance he is not. If such a death is good enough for the best man I have ever known, then it must be acceptable for scum like that.