Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
I’d checked on her twice.
Both times she was still writhing in pain.
She was weak, had always been weak. My father chose her because he liked her face and he knew he could control her and in return she could control me, his youngest child, his protégé.
I’ll never forget the days I had to fight her away from me.
The days she’d try to kiss me, to force herself on me when I was sixteen and finally started looking like a better option than my own father.
He should have killed her on the spot.
She carried a scar on her right thigh from my knife.
Maybe I’d extend it down her calf then burn the wound closed to remind her who she was dealing with.
Later.
Tonight, I was a club owner.
Tonight, I was the devil himself.
Tonight, I couldn’t get distracted by past enemies or Alice.
Six thirty-two.
Damn it.
She was starting to be more than a number, and I hated that when I thought of her I said her name in my head… and I said it softly.
Like I had a heart that actually cared.
I put on my silver Rolex and grabbed my cell then made my way out into the kitchen.
Alice was there.
And she was wearing a pair of shorts that showed too much creamy thigh and a sweatshirt that looked vaguely familiar. I did a double take. Son of a bitch. I leaned over the couch. “You really need to stop stealing my clothes.”
She looked up from the book she was reading and then eyed me up and down, “Are you going out?”
“Out the door.” I pointed. “To do my job.”
She scrambled to her feet. “Can I come?”
“I don’t know,” I tilted my head and smirked. “Can you?’
She threw the book down on the couch. “Stop being crude. May I come?”
In theory she would be safe, but I couldn’t give her all my attention and she would want that and more.
I sighed and held up my hand, reaching for my phone to send out a quick group text.
Me: Party at the club tonight, Cristal on me, bring the wives. Say any shit to Alice, and I strangle you with your own tie.
Nixon: Who the fuck is Alice?
Phoenix: Thought her name was six thirty-two?
Dante: Black Widow, remember? Making things personal?
Tex: I’ve waited for this moment my entire life.
Chase: Wait, Alice… why does that sound familiar? Same chick you randomly enrolled? Hmmmm things heating up?
A chill washed over me.
Sergio: We were going out already, see you guys there in an hour.
I sighed in relief.
Me: Great.
Chase: What’s her last name?
I hesitated, eyed her, then stupidly typed into my phone.
Me: Petrov.
Tex: WTF?
Sergio: Wait.
Chase: That’s not how this works… guys tell him, you date, you eat food, you propose.
Dante: Um, this coming from the guy that tried to kill his own girl?
Chase: I had my reasons.
Phoenix: Interesting development. I think we need alcohol for this conversation.
Me: Not enough, on this planet.
Phoenix: Even better.
Nixon: I’ve never gotten dressed so fast in my entire life.
Me: Gotta go.
I looked up to Alice. “The guys are bringing their wives and their own security as per usual. Ax will be roaming the VIP area, and I’ll have Vic stand guard at the door with Mateo.”
“Really?” She smiled so bright I almost dropped my phone.
“No, I’m getting your hopes up on purpose.”
Her face fell.
“Joke. That was a joke.”
“You don’t joke.”
“Mmm…” I leaned in and whispered into her ear. “You don’t really know me, now do you?”
I pulled back.
Her eyes narrowed. “I think that’s the great question isn’t it? One day you can be terrifying, and in a second you can be the most charming guy in the room, albeit the most deadly. Which of you is real? The club owner? The fierce protector? The fake husband? Bodyguard? Who are you?”
Stunned, I could only stare. Not many people saw the chameleon tendencies, the need to blend into every situation with flawless precision.
But she somehow did.
“All of them,” I snapped. “I’m whatever I need to be, when I need to be it.”
“And with me?” she asked, stopping me in my tracks as I turned toward the door. “Who are you when you’re with me?”
Anger swirled inside my chest, that she would demand an honest answer from me, that I would even debate whether or not to answer in the first place.
“Who I could have been,” I finally settled on, “if I wasn’t a man possessed with darkness.”
“Andrei—”
“Wear something conservative. The last thing I want is to have to kick out paying customers because they think they can have you.”
“So I’m still yours.”
“Funny that you think I would ever let you go,” I called over my shoulder then slammed the door behind me and leaned against it for a few heartbeats as I tried to regain the control of my breathing.
Who the hell did she think she was?
She was in no position to barter, to demand, to even converse with me, and yet, it was impossible not to engage, not to tell her things, not to want her to ask them.