Page 74 of Wild Angel

Lunch, they say.

Dressfancy, they say.

Goddamn bunch of fucking idiots.

I glare at my reflection in the tall stand mirror as I strip down to my black underwear. Then I drag the dress over my head and take a second to adjust it. I leave my hair loose—because I couldn’t give a fuck—and don’t bother taking off my sports bra.

It shines through the white dress, and sticks out by the bodice and sides, but what the fuck am I? A fashion model?

I glare at myself and then nod.

This is what he gets for ordering me around. He gets amonstrosity.

God, that’s hilarious.

Sam takes a step back when I fling open the door and strut out.

“Well? Which way?” I point a finger down each end of the hall, wriggling my shoulders a little.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” Matias says, sounding utterly defeated.

These morons have been following me around the entire morning. I spotted them seconds after I stepped onto the patio in my yoga pants and hoodie.

I knew Savage had sent them. That he doesn’t trust me not to bolt like a wild horse as soon as I don’t have a fucking halter around my neck.

So me and his two goons, we went on a little tour of the estate.

My feet are sore, but I imagine they patrol and shit, so honestly they shouldn’t look as exhausted as they do.

Did I occasionally run around a corner trying to lose them?

Maybe.

Did I disappear into the small grove of trees near the estate’s border fence?

You betcha.

Did I try and jump on one of the rowboats tied to the jetty?

I did. But they fucking stopped me. And then they told me I wasn’t allowed to go swimming—especially if I didn’t have a swimsuit.

Nerds.

“I’m sorry, are you my mother?” I snap.

“You have to wear shoes,” Sam says.

“Or what?” When I turn on him, he hastily retreats, and then gives Matias a sideways glance.

“We should go,” Matias says.

“Good idea. You know what, I’ll go too.” I storm off, but they’re at my side a second later.

“Please, Ms. Gray. We don’t want to…have to use force.”

I snort so loud I almost inhale my palate. “Won’t…orcan’t?”

I suppose, looking back, I shouldn’t have challenged the two men I’d been giving the literal run around the entire morning. Because while I definitely could have taken on Matias—especially with his weak fucking stomach muscles—Sam is a different story.

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