Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 202(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 202(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
“What do you want?” Asking the words seemed to take whatever breath I had left in my body. I felt faint as I tried to play out every scenario of what might happen to me in my head. The probability of me getting out of this situation alive seemed less and less likely with every gruesome thought playing in my mind.
“Why do you have all these photos on your wall?”
“It’s my job.”
“To have pictures of me on your wall?”
“Well, no...” I swallowed hard.
“Then why am I plastered all over your living room?” he asked as he took a step closer and peered at some more intensely.
“Because it helps me,” I said softly, repositioning my weight from one bare foot to the other.
“Helps you? How?”
I didn’t know how much I should answer, but decided I really didn’t have a choice in the matter if I wanted to keep things clean. “Having the photos hung up helps me live and breathe the case. It helps me see the bigger picture.”
I had just revealed that I was working a case, and he was that case. But I also clearly could see that Eddie Vasco was already aware of that fact.
“And what is that bigger picture?” he asked.
“I haven’t found it yet.”
“And do you think you will?”
“Well, that depends on if you are here to kill me or not.” I wondered if I could pound on the glass window and scream loud enough for the police officer stationed below to hear me and get up here in time to save my life.
“Do you think I came here to kill you?” he growled as he took slow calculated steps toward me, closing the distance between us.
“I don’t know why you’re here,” I said as I spun on my heels and bolted toward the window.
A sharp pain erupted on the back of my head.
Darkness...
Chapter Two
Eddie Vasco
I was taught to never hit a woman. My strict Italian mother would be livid with me for knocking Nayla Bell out the way I did. Men did not abuse women. Not a pop to the face or anything that could mar a beautiful smile with bruises or blood. That’s not to say the men in my family didn’t swat a naughty ass here or there when deserved, but we did not physically harm an innocent female in an act of uncontrolled violence. The Vasco family had rules, and that was one of them.
I would have to ask for forgiveness later in confession and pay my penance with saying my Hail Marys. I also would keep this little tidbit of information from my mother in fear that she would beat me over the head with a wooden spoon if she became aware. But I didn’t have a choice. I knew that Miss Bell would not go quietly. I saw her cagey eyes darting around as she tried to come up with an escape plan, and now was not the time to quiet her screams or deal with her nails clawing at my face. There was plenty of time for that later.
Catching Nayla’s limp body in my arms, I cradled her closely to my chest, trying to ignore the wafting aroma of rose petals coming from her long chestnut hair. I also tried not to pay attention to the smoothness of the bare legs that I’d scooped over my arm—flesh to flesh. Her small frame made it easy for me to walk toward the wall of photos with her still in my arms. I had never seen anything like it. I thought my mother was bad with all the pictures of me as a child displayed in her home, but this was hands down borderline stalker. Nayla Bell was clearly obsessed with taking me down. This wasn’t news to me, however. You couldn’t be the boss of one of the largest crime families on the Eastern coast and not think that every law enforcer wanted you behind bars. But to see a display of this magnitude in a woman’s apartment. To see me in her home...
As I exited her place, my men were waiting outside the door. I could have handed Nayla off to any one of them, but I liked the warmth of her body against mine. I would never admit that fact to my men, but I wasn’t going to give up this small pleasure. I would be handling Miss Bell myself. Plus, I didn’t trust the bastards to not take advantage of a lady. Captive or not, she was still a woman and the words of my mother were ringing in my ears. I wanted to silence them—it would make this entire situation easier if I did—but they were still present whether I liked it or not.
“You take care of the cop?” I asked as I walked down the stairs, paying close attention that Nayla’s head or feet didn’t hit the railing or wall.