Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“I don’t like the dark,” she whispers, her breath coming in quick, shaky puffs. The urge to wrap her in my arms and comfort her is overwhelming. It’s a shame that she doesn’t like the dark— it’s where I feel most at home.
“Here.” Vance hands her his phone with the flashlight glowing.
“Thank you.” She releases me and steps back, roaming the light around the small space as a voice comes through the speaker.
“There’s a power outage. Please bear with us while we try to get you out of there as soon as possible.”
“It’s fucking hot as hell in here,” Vance voices what I’m thinking as I yank down the fake beard and grab the Santa hat off my head, shoving them in my pocket before running a hand through my hair.
“This is just my luck. I must have really pissed someone off up there,” Poppy whines, pointing a finger upward.
“Or someone down there,” Vance pipes up, eliciting a laugh from Poppy’s lips. My rigid muscles loosen at the infectious sound, storing it in my memory for later.
“We’ll be out of here soon,”
I try to sound hopeful, but clearly, Vance can’t fucking help himself when he says, “Or we’ll plummet to our deaths.”
“What?” The light from the phone Poppy’s holding darts up to my face, stunning me.
“He’s joking.” I hold a hand out to stop her from blinding me.
“Is that a possibility? Oh god, I haven’t lived enough yet.” She clutches her neck, eyes wide as saucers. “One night does not count as a full life,” she mutters.
“Calm down, Poppy. We’ll be fine.”
“Oh god, oh god,” she cries. She’s spiraling, clutching her arms around her waist.
Instinct takes the helm, and I find myself grasping her jaw, making her breath hitch. “Calm down,” I order in a firmer tone than I’ve ever used with her.
Wide eyes peer up at me, her face glowing from the phone screen. Batting her lashes, she nods. “Okay.”
I stroke a finger across her lip. “Good girl.” Dammit, the darkness and her panic are making me lose my ever-loving mind. I shouldn’t have let Vance talk me into drinking a bottle of whiskey with him before leaving the apartment. I’ve been teetering on the edge as is, a monster under my skin, desperate to rip free and gorge on perfect little Poppy.
Swallowing down my lust and ignoring the eyes of my best friend burning a hole in my face, I yank the jacket from my shoulders then sag against the wall. It’s too damn hot in here.
Static crackles before the voice is back. “Apologies. It looks like it’s going to take at least an hour to get you moving. Try to relax.”
Sure, asshole. We’ll relax in a dangling metal container capable of dropping hundreds of feet vertically. I hate this old building’s design, which doesn’t allow for a bigger or more sophisticated elevator. It was all I could swing when I needed somewhere to start up. I can afford any real estate now, but I haven’t taken the plunge. There’s a small part of me that believes things can still be ripped out from underneath me. Regardless, tomorrow morning, I’ll instruct Randal—my lawyer and advisor—to find us somewhere more high-end, with huge elevators and backup generators.
“It’s too hot to stay in here for an hour,” Poppy whines and begins shuffling around. I bring my phone to where she’s moving, and my muscles tense beneath my skin.
She’s shoved her box skirt down her legs and has stepped out of it, wearing nothing but a pair of black lace panties and her red fucking bow top. When I draw the light up to her face, she licks her lips and rolls her head over her shoulders. “Do either of you have a drink in those sacks?” She dips her head to the Santa sack I have then the brown sack Vance is carrying.
Vance cracks out a laugh, and her eyes narrow. “Have we met before?” At her question, I turn the phone to his face.
He flinches and grabs my wrist, lowering the phone. He’s lost the bottom of his mask—the beard half—but kept on the devil eyes and horns. I drag my gaze over his skin, which is now exposed since he’s taken his jacket off. There’s a sheen of sweat coating his chest and his flexed abs. “No,” he says sharply, and I frown.
“You do have a drink in that sack,” I remind him. I put it in there. He rustles around then produces a bottle of Vodka. I’d planned to hide in my office with him and the bottle.
“Is this a good idea?” he asks, raising the liquor.
“Yes,” Poppy snaps, grasping the bottle neck and pulling it from him. When she slides down the wall, taking a corner for herself, we follow suit. I unwrap a candy and shove it in my mouth before putting the jar in my sack.