Read The Buchanan's Redemption for Free Online Page A

and she faltered with a cry, stumbling against the bed as her knees gave out. “Noooo,” she wailed, hating how weak she was and how her body refused to cooperate. “Let me go!” she cried when Vince immediately scooped her into his arms and returned her to the bed with a dark scowl.
    “What is wrong with you?” he asked. “You’re injured and you can’t possibly make it to the hallway much less down the street to hail a cab. Not to mention, you don’t have a way of paying for said cab even if you managed to catch one. Stop being such an irritating twit and stay put. Rescuing women is not my forte. I suggest that you stop pushing my boundaries. I’m not known for my patience or my kindness.”
    “I know exactly what you’re known for,” she whispered, hating his logic and hating him even more for being right.
    “Which is?”
    “You and I both know. You don’t need to hear me say it.”
    “On the contrary, I’d love to hear you say it. In fact, I insist.”
    “Go fuck yourself.”
    “What if I’d rather fuck you?” he countered, plainly enjoying her discomfort. He leaned forward, invading her space. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he observed, his casual tone belying the sudden hunger radiating from his body. “I prefer a little more meat on the bones but in spite of your tiny body, your tits are quite plump. More than a nice handful. I suspect they’d taste like ambrosia in my mouth.”
    “Stop it,” she demanded, though her voice shook. “You’re disgusting.”
    “I can be,” he agreed easily, taking no offense much to her dismay. “My appetites are varied and voracious. One doesn’t satisfy such a hunger like mine with the same menu over and over. I require variation and lots of it.”
    She knew all about Vince’s appetites. In her research, she’d stumbled across a supposed private video of Vince as he “vetted” one of the hostesses. The video was key in her evidence against the club, alleging that the proprietors used the “casting couch” to hire their hostesses. She was horrified to admit that watching the video had been shamefully arousing. Vince Buchanan was powerfully built and genetically blessed in all ways, she thought bitterly. Was it any wonder he’d gleefully taken every advantage given to him? God, she needed to get away from Vince. She’d been stupid and naïve to go half-cocked and unprepared for contingencies but she’d been so anxious to get the ball rolling that she’d ignored that little voice of reason that’d cautioned her to wait. Tears welled in her eyes. “I want to go home,” she said. “Let me go home.”
    “Not until we figure out who did this,” he answered resolutely and for a split second she almost thought his desire to keep her was to keep her safe until he said, “Once you help me identify the bastard who’s abusing my club, you’re free to go.”
    “I don’t know who did this to me,” she spat, her pride inexplicably wounded by his single motivation. “All I know is that you and your kind are an abomination and need to be put down like rabid dogs.”
    “You’re very passionate in your beliefs,” he said, his brow lifting in question. “Are you a religious zealot? Part of a cult?”
    She blinked at him. “No, of course not.”
    “Good. Then dial it down a notch, okay? We can be on the same side, you know.”
    “No, we can’t,” she
    “And why not?”
    “Because I hate you and everything you stand for.”
    He frowned. “Which is?”
    “Spoiled, bored, narcissistic, over-privileged, trust-fund babies who only care about what gets them off. In your case, operating a sleazy Sodom and Gomorrah club for people of your same ilk so you can host lavish sex parties with ridiculous rituals and bonds of secrecy. Hello? Stanley Kubrick called and he wants his movie back. You could do amazing things with your wealth but you choose to spend it on the only person who matters in your world: you. And frankly, the world needs less people