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At least for a while.
Right now, my focus is getting Isabelle home and us both alive until I do.
And helping these two hundred women.
I grimace as I steer the Jeep onto the highway. I haven’t figured out how to do both, but I will.
I glance over at Isabelle, who is still holding the cigarette, staring in front of her in a state of shock. I reach for it and toss it out my window.
She turns to me with eyes full of fear and asks, “Are you taking me home now?”
“I’m going to try my fucking hardest.”
11
ISABELLE
He killed a man.
Just grabbed his head and snapped it. Like in the movies. I nearly screamed. In fact, I did inside my head. I know it was ahim or ussituation, but that doesn’t make it any less shocking.
Things like that just don’t happen in my life. Decker didn’t hesitate for a second.
He. Just. Killed. Him.
The worst part? Instead of seeing him now as a murderer, my body is thrumming with attraction for this mighty warrior.
I do care that a man lost his life. However, the strength in Decker’s arms and his masculine savageness as he protected me and pulled me outside were impossible to ignore.
Men in New York are just not...well, they just don’t...they’re not like Decker. Testosterone was pouring from him, and I couldn’t help but react.
All the time.
Yesterday I threw myself at him and the next minute, his mouth was on my pussy, lapping at me like a starving man. It was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.
There’s something wrong with me. I swear I felt my ovaries roar to life the moment I met him. I’m truly questioning my morals, though not enough to stop me in my tracks. I’m past the point of worrying if Decker is a good or bad guy.
