Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Choking on a sob, I blurt out my password. Sparrow sits down on the bed and begins tapping away. His eyes bug out of his head.
“She’s got over a hundred grand.” Sparrow whistles. “A high-paid whore.”
“We’re taking it,” Scout growls. “Every dime. You owe us, especially after ruining our chance at Harvard.”
“Then take it,” I whisper. “Just . . . don’t say anything to anyone. Please.”
Scout is quiet as he starts mashing buttons. All three of the guys’ phones buzz.
“Over thirty grand each,” he says with a wicked smile. “Poor Ash is broke now. She’ll have to spread her legs some more to make that up.”
“Just leave,” I beg. “The limo is here. Please.”
“You’re not coming with us?” Scout asks, his brow arched high.
“I’ll find my own ride.”
“With no money and no friends and your John already at the party, how do you plan on doing that?” he taunts. “Are you going to walk?”
“I’ll figure it out,” I snap.
“Sparrow, make the call. Sully and I will deal with her.”
I don’t know what that means, but I don’t want any part of it. I start to scream and kick.
“Winston, I’m sorry, lover but I won’t be able to make it to the party,” Scout says as he types on my phone. “While it was lovely using you for your money, I won’t need it anymore. My brothers will look after me now.”
“He’ll know that’s not me,” I spit out.
He shrugs. “Doesn’t change the fact you’re not going to the party.”
My eyes widen in fear as he approaches. He grabs a handful of the hair I spent so much time on, and he yanks me forward. His lips crash to mine in a brutal, painful kiss that makes my lip bleed. He pulls away and then jerks me out of Sully’s grip, pushing me to the floor.
“Grab those scissors,” Scout barks out.
I try to scramble to the bathroom on my knees, but Scout steps on my back making me scream at his forcefulness. I shriek when one of them starts cutting my dress.
“If you’re a whore, you have to dress like one,” Scout explains as though he really is a big brother chiding his younger sister.
I sob and kick out but they’re too strong. I’m outnumbered by the Terror Triplets. My legs grow cold as the material is crudely cut away. They roll me onto my back and continue destroying my dress. All the floor-length material is gone having been cut high up my thighs. Sully straddles my stomach and then brings the scissors to my throat.
All my thrashing stops as he scrapes the blade along my neck. He cuts the fabric in a V from the neckline to between my breasts, nearly exposing me. Sparrow returns and grabs my hands, pulling them above my head while Sully holds my legs down. I’ve lost all fight and cry deep gut-wrenching sobs.
Scout’s face is screwed into a monstrous one as he cuts through the material on my stomach. “Mom was right,” he murmurs as he cuts out a square to show off the Sharpie words on my stomach.
He climbs off and towers over me. “Let her go.”
As soon as they release me, I curl in on myself, desperate to hide from them. Scout grabs a handful of my hair, dragging me to my feet. He forcefully walks me into the bathroom and yanks open the shower door. I panic, fearing we’ll have a repeat of last time. With a hard shove, he sends me into the shower floor. My knees skid across the tile, scraping them open.
“Dirty whores need baths. Stay right there and don’t fucking move.” He turns on the icy cold shower.
With water raining down over the back of my head, I stare at the tiles that are smeared with blood. My entire body trembles, and I remain still, listening for sounds of them leaving. I’m not sure how long I wait, shivering with my teeth chattering, but I eventually hear a knock.
“Help,” I croak out.
The shower door opens, and the water shuts off.
“Oh, you poor, poor girl,” a deep, masculine voice croons. “Let me grab you a towel.”
A warm towel wraps around me and someone picks me up. I’m carried into my bedroom and the person lays me down. He sits beside me, stroking my wet hair from my face.
Dark eyes. Dark hair. Dark intentions.
I know him.
The guy from the club.
Leo Morelli.
“I had to see you again,” Leo says, running his thumb over my numb bottom lip. “What would possess Winston Constantine to sell a thirty-eight point five million dollar building that he loves very, very much to me? A Morelli?” He chuckles. “I didn’t even know what I had in my hands that night at the club. I should’ve dragged you out of there, kept you locked up tight.”
I close my eyes, tears leaking out, and say the one thing I want but won’t get. “C-Can y-you c-call W-Winston?”