Page 7 of Filthy Devil

I really fucking said that, and I know I shouldn’t have. We’re not going to be living in the same house, let alone sleeping in the same place. But I’m still taking her home. Her new home. Where she’ll be living in her own space, and I’ll be in mine—at least, that’s what I tell myself.

CHAPTER

THREE

JAMES

I thinkthere is something seriously wrong with me. Like maybe I need to seek professional help. I am not the least bit concerned with the fact that this man killed someone right in front of me, and then these rugged men cleaned it all up while I ate candy.

That is the more disturbing part of it all. I stood there and ate candy while they cleaned up a dead body. Granted, that creep show was going to try and force me to blow him. Seriously, that’s so gross. What the hell is wrong with people?

Now I’m on the back of this nameless silver fox’s bike and headed…somewhere. I’m blindly going with this man. He could be leading me to a fate worse than where I was headed on that truck.

But as the roads curve, the bike ebbs and flows, and I find myself relaxing against his back again. I’m not sure I care if he killed someone. Rationalizing everything in my head, I decide that guy has probably assaulted more than one woman, and the world is a better place without him in it.

I’m not sure how long we ride. My ass is sore, my body is exhausted, but I’m also anxious and maybe even a little excited for what’s to come. The adrenaline that once surged through my body has begun to fade away, and now all I want to do is sleep.

Luckily, he guides the bike into a parking lot and stops, killing the engine. When he doesn’t move immediately, I lift my head to see that we’re in front of… a strip club.

What the fuck?

The other bikes take off in different directions. It’s just us in front of this building that has a neon sign readingGirls, Girls, Girls.When he disengages from his bike, I don’t move. I stay where I am, my heart racing a million miles a minute.

Does he expect me to take my clothes off for money?

He turns to me, his blue eyes finding mine and holding my gaze before he speaks. Although he only says a single word, that does absolutely nothing to calm my racing heart.

“Ready?” he asks.

“For what?”

He arches a brow. It’s at this moment that realization dawns on me. I don’t know this man’s name. I don’t know anything at all about him. He’s a complete stranger who took me off a trailer that was taking me to slaughter. And he’s brought me to a strip club…

A moment of stagnant silence passes between us. We’re completely alone in this parking lot, and I wonder just how late it really is. If a strip club is closed, it must be theverywee hours of the morning.

“To go home.”

Those three words do not make me feel any more at ease than I did a moment ago. Also, I’m finding it really hard to tamp down my smart-ass. I am a question-asker… or rather, a demander.

Sucking in a breath, I hold it for a moment, then let it out slowly so I don’t say something to piss this guy off. I don’t knowhow to read him. I feel safe with him, and I’m wildly attracted to him, but at the same time, I am scared about what is about to happen to me.

“This is a strip club…” I say, my words fading away as my gaze shifts over his shoulder and to the strip club behind him to prove my point.

“There’s an apartment up there,” he murmurs.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I try to think of something to say. I’m not sure what to ask, but I don’t want to be here alone. And I’m thinking that’s what will be happening. I wonder if I throw myself at him, will he maybe stay…

“I’m confused,” I confess.

He smirks, not at all bothered by my confusion, but more like he thinks I’m being cute or something. I’m not. I’m seriously freaking confused by what’s happening here, and I want to know how to play my hand… whatever that hand is… if I even have one.

His head tilts to the side, his eyes search mine, and I wonder if he’s going to tell me what it is that I’m doing here, but then he shakes his head once as if he’s decided against whatever he thought of telling me.

“You’re safe here, James.”

I almost laugh because I know better than that. I might be twenty years old, but I’m not that naive.

“I don’t even know your name,” I whisper.

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