Dragon: A Bad Boy Romance by Danielle Slater, Lena Blackstone Read Free Book Online

angry in a way that seeing that limp-dick douchebag never could. I don't want that side of her – the spoiled little rich girl. Douchebag is welcome to her. But the wild, sexy woman who would sneak out of the house in the dead of night; I want her. She belongs to me. Suddenly, I want to catch her at it. Because I want nothing more than to beat the shit out of the guy touching her.
    The trees thin out, and I realize that I'm pretty close to the gate. I can see the light source, now. It's the interior light of a car – no headlights, though. For one horrible moment, I can imagine it so clearly that I nearly see it – Honey on the back seat, riding some prick. But the car is empty. As I watch, a shadow crosses the light, and a man slides into the driver's seat. The interior light goes off, and the car starts to reverse down the drive, headlights still off.
    I break cover, crashing through the undergrowth, but by the time I'm over the stone wall, the car has gone. It's too dark to see the color, let alone the plate. I look around for Honey, but there's no sign of her. What was he doing, then, if he wasn't doing her?
    I move over to the gate. I'm on the wrong side, now, the outside. Everything looks normal. I know he's not been using the intercom, because the house is still in darkness. If he'd have pressed the buzzer, Tony would have woken. The only other feature is the mailbox. From this side, there's only a slot to push the letter through. I backtrack to the wall where I came over. I could have climbed the gate, but doing so would have broken the invisible laser beam that runs over the top. As of yet, there's no reason to send up the alarm.
    Back at the gate, on the right side this time, I check the mailbox. It's locked, but it's only a shitty thing, and the keys in my pocket are enough to jimmy it open. The metal box should be empty, of course. But it's not. There's no stamp on the envelope, which looks like all the others that Freeman showed me earlier.
    I wake Tony, give him the envelope, and tell him what I saw. I don't mention my raging suspicion that the intruder was there at Honey's invitation. He checks the CCTV, but it's worthless. The car parked too far back, and in the dark it's impossible to see the guys face when he posts the letter. Hell, I don't even recognize myself when I show up on the tape a moment later. Freeman tells me to go to bed, looking like he's aged ten years in the last half hour.
    Before I do, I open the door to Honey's bedroom. I don't know why. Tony already looked in on her, so I know she's there. She's asleep, barely visible under the bedclothes. As I watch, she rolls over, murmuring something. She looks so innocent and vulnerable, and I find myself wanting to protect her. Not for the money, or the job, but for her. Then I remember her talking about her prick boyfriend, and I turn away. I'm just here to do a job, get paid, and get out.
     
    ~~~~~~~
     
    It's only 9 AM, and I already feel like I've fallen down the rabbit hole. I always imagined that being rich is just an easier version of being poor. Instead of worrying about the engine falling out of your shitty Honda Civic, you worry about the paint job on your Porsche. You buy your clothes in fancy stores, but you still put your pants on one leg at a time.
    But this is something else. When I woke up, my clothes from yesterday – the one decent suit I'd worn to the restaurant, and the muddied jeans – were gone. My first thought was that Honey was playing some sort of stupid prank, but that isn't the case, I discover. The Freemans employ a cleaner, and one of her tasks is to creep into the bedrooms at dawn and collect up any laundry. I'm told I'll get them back, fully laundered, by the end of the day. I've not even seen the kitchen yet. Tony and I sat in the dining room, and the cook brought breakfast to us. There is no sign of Honey - it seems she likes to sleep late. He doesn't want to talk about the letter, though.
    Tony is playing golf