Page 7 of Felonies are Forever

And he could never give me that. Silly girl.

After he’d sent my mother out of the room, he told me he was sending me to live with his brother. It was the worst kind of punishment. I only knew of my uncle from a few family gatherings and when he and my father would meet to talk business. But he was a brute of a man. Not a soft part about him. He frightened me, the way he would stare and suck at his teeth while some young woman trailed behind him, eyes down, suffering oozing from her very being.

Yes, they. A different one every time. Young women, girls, really. And his eyes told me he knew no boundaries. He would touch my hair and laugh at my discomfort as far back as I could remember. And my father was sending me to him? I had to wonder why. To keep me safe? No, even he couldn’t possibly believe that.

Something else, but I knew better than to ask. All I knew was I couldn’t trade the devil I knew for his brother. I couldn’t endure that.

That night, I stole the wads of cash my father kept hidden in cigar boxes and in drawers around his office. I’d never touched the money before, never thought to. Insignificant change to him, of course, but to a girl who was about to flee away into a world where she knew no one, it was enough to buy freedom.

And where did it get me? Here, smelling the same old stench of alcohol on another man’s breath. Life has a way of going around in circles.

I take a deep breath and push the memories away.

I brace my hands on the edge of the desk, ready to roll my chair back, but Shit-son is still planted directly behind me. “Well? I can’t go if you don’t move.” My snarky tone is doing nothing for my job security, but he’s pushing me and when I feel the wall against my back, I come out swinging.

He finally takes a step back and I push off on the chair harder than I need, smirking to myself as I hear him huff, the back of the chair hitting him right in his big, fat gut.

I stomp toward the reception area wearing a look that could kill. I suppose it makes sense that I should be the greeter, since I’m the one that speaks Mandarin, but geezus, what a fucked up Friday. I’m a simple girl with simple needs: books, donuts, and peace. And apparently not even those am I granted today.

I plaster on a smile and grip the doorknob to the waiting room. The proper Mandarin greeting is already dancing on my tongue when I swing open the door, but the sight that greets me has me at a loss for words.

In any language.

“Hi. You’re CeeCee, right?” It’s him.

Donut shop dude.

In all his glory.

And I do mean glory. Suited, inked, and alpha.

All I can do is nod and fight to keep my jaw muscles from going lax and letting my lower mandible hang like dead weight.

“I’m Thorne. You’re late for your Friday night donut pick-up. So, we’re running a special. Free delivery to our VIP customers.” The rumble of his words throws a lasso around me and starts to pull.

My ovaries spring to life. I think I might have just conceived from the mere sight of the man holding out The Sweet Spot donut bag. Honestly, his smile could melt the polar ice caps.

“Wha…?” I manage and pray the drool pooling under my tongue doesn’t drip from my bottom lip.

I wasn’t much of a student in school, but I speak five languages fluently and a few others well enough.

I’m what they call a hyperpolyglot, which is an awful name for someone that has a knack for picking up languages. More than a knack really, I guess you’d call it a gift, but still, right now I seem to be struggling with English. So instead of actual words, I come up with ‘Wha…?’

Kill. Me. Now.

He licks the corner of his bottom lip, then his teeth sink in to hold back a grin. A gleaming white incisor digs into the lip I want to kiss. And I can see he’s trying not to laugh at me, which only turns up the heat on my flaming cheeks.

“Sorry,” his throaty, low voice hits me in some amazing places, “I know it’s a surprise.”

He sets the smile free that’s been tugging at the world’s sexiest lips and my panties are finished. I didn’t realize men like this actually walked the Earth in flesh and blood. Until now they only existed in my books.

I start checking off the long list of perfect parts of the donut delivery god.

Tattoos that have my mouth watering more than the donuts? Check.

Face sculpted from diamonds and iron ore? Check.

Eyes that swim over me, creating a desire I only thought lived in the spicy prose I love so much? Check.

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