14004.
My bank balance.
6.
The number of meals I should eat a day.
3.
The number of people in my life who looked out for me.
5.
The number of flights I took to visit my mother while she was dying last year.
4.
The number of men I’d slept with over the past twelve months.
90000.
The amount of cash it took to crash my life to the ground.
8.
The number of years I lived a lie.
My days drifted past in a sea of numbers while I numbed my pain by disconnecting from life as much as I could.
As the guy I’d been watching in the casino all night slipped me his room key and said, “Room 1242,” I knew I’d be using that key.
I might have given up on a lot, but I never gave up on revenge.
Especially when it involved the opportunity to seek vengeance against the man I thought murdered my brother.
* * *
His greedy eyes trailed a path over my body after he let me into his room. I felt nothing but disgust and had to work hard not to vomit.
You can do this.
For Chris.
I flinched when his palm roughly connected with my breast.
“You came here to fuck me, right?” He watched me, waiting for my answer, his hand squeezing my nipple through my clothes.
Swallowing down my nerves, I nodded.
Fuck, Tatum, get your shit together. It’s not like you don’t deal with these kinds of men every damn day.
He kept his hand on my breast while his other one gripped my hip and pulled me hard against his body.
Against his erection.
He ground his dick against me as his gaze dropped to my neck. “Those are some tattoos you’re rocking. Who’s your guy?”
No way was I giving him my girl’s name.