Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Azelie reached up to remove one earring. “You’ve given me the best night of my life, Andrii. Truly. I don’t know anything about jewelry, but the coat, dress and shoes are designer. I have a terrible fear these might be real.” She held out one earring dripping diamonds. “If you give me your address, I can send you the dress and shoes. If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep the coat but will pay for it.”
She hoped she had enough in her savings to pay the price, but letting that coat go meant giving up everything he’d given her. Gifts. Beautiful gifts. She didn’t get birthday or Christmas presents when she was young. The money went for food and for the children. She contributed what she could for them. To receive such an enormous gift, like the clothing Andrii had provided for her to wear out, brought her to tears. Of course she couldn’t keep the items; they were far too expensive. But the coat…
Andrii sat very still, his expression an unreadable mask. His eyes went that glittering silver she found herself fearful of. She didn’t know what triggered the sudden rising tension in the car, but she felt it. Oppressive. Dark. Ominous. She tried to explain further.
“Seriously, I had the best time with you. It’s been magical. I don’t want you to ever think you have to spend money on me for me to be happy. It makes me happy just to spend time with you.”
Unfortunately, that only seemed to make things worse. The tension in the car thickened. Her stomach churned. She had no idea why she was upsetting him, but it hurt. Physically hurt. She felt sick. She’d had the best time she’d ever had, and yet he seemed to be angry with her.
“When I buy something for you, Zelie, you don’t throw it back in my face.” He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side, yanking open her door. There was thunder on his face. Disapproval.
She had definitely triggered his temper, but she had no idea why. Not just his temper, but his smoldering disapproval. He looked at her as if she were a complete stranger. He did help her from the car, ignoring the earring altogether, but he didn’t put his hand on her back or touch her at all when he walked her up to the door. He was silent as she put in the security code and stepped inside, turning to thank him again. He was already walking away. He didn’t look back, or even at her, when he got behind the wheel of the car. She knew because she remained right at the door watching until he drove off.
FOUR
He’d blown it big-time, all because he couldn’t keep it together. Maestro needed to feel the wind in his face and his colors on his back. He needed a reset. Grounding. Torpedo Ink grounded him. His Harley-Davidson Iron 883 grounded him. He’d purchased the machine in 2017. Black leather seat, parchment cream paint, blacked-out chrome and trim with black-and-gold music note stenciling—his ride felt like home to him. Mechanic and Transporter had turned the Harley into a road rocket.
He made the ride back down the coast to Caspar, even though he needed to stay in San Francisco. That was how fucked up Zelie had managed to get him. He wasn’t physically attracted to women without ordering his cock to cooperate. That was part of his extensive sexual training back at the school of hell. His cock didn’t seem to get that message around her.
Maestro had to ask himself if Azelie Vargas could have been trained in the art of seduction. He knew better. That was the sad truth. He knew she was innocent when it came to men. She was no seductress; he was simply that susceptible to her. If he had any sense of self-preservation, he would get as far from her as possible. Tell his club it was too dangerous for him to go anywhere near Zelie.
A relationship with him was equally as dangerous for her. He wasn’t a nice man. He never would be. He could be gentle when needed, but he didn’t know if that was who he was or if he’d trained to deceive everyone around him. Deep inside, there was an explosive assassin willing to cut throats without warning. Willing to do whatever it took to get the job done.
Swearing, Maestro pulled up to the house he had purchased with his share of the money the club had taken from the billionaire president of the Swords club. He had been the primary criminal in an international human trafficking ring. He had also inherited billions when his older brother died. Torpedo Ink, meaning Code, had managed to siphon the money from all his accounts, even the ones he thought well hidden.