Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
“Don’t forget to invite Uncle Max. This is exactly what I needed before we end this shit.” Maxwell danced around Emily and Paolo. “Hell fucking yes. This shit is getting me hyped.”
They are all crazy.
A few of Harlem Crew gathered around and peeked into the bathroom. Many watched in utter shock. Others grinned. A few rocked with them.
Then, I spotted Boris.
Hmmm.
Emily was too busy dancing with Maxwell and Paolo.
This is a perfect time.
I headed out and left the bathroom.
Boris spotted me and stepped away from the doorway.
I gave him a warm smile. “Come with me.”
Boris quirked his brows. “Me?”
“Yes.” I widened my smile. “You.”
You are very lucky that my mouse will not let me kill you.
Eager to have some alone time with Boris, I led him past the bedroom, through the living room, and out of the suite. I had to make sure Emily didn’t interrupt this talk.
When we stepped out into the hallway, I shut the door.
Boris kept four feet from me.
I scanned the space.
Ten of my men stood out there with their guns at their sides.
Boris followed my gaze, looked at me, and gulped.
I watched him. “How are you, Boris?”
He glanced at my men again, and then put his view on me. “I am fine, Kazimir.”
“Very good. I just have a question.”
“Yes?”
I leaned my head to the side. “Can you define obsession?”
Boris widened his eyes. “Obsession?”
I nodded.
“It is a. . .persistent. . .preoccupation with something or someone.”
“Very good again. I agree with this definition.” I raised one finger. “However, I would simply add that at times obsession is unreasonable. Dangerous. Lethal.”
Boris pursed his lips.
“Do you have obsessions, Boris?”
Boris parted his lips. Then, he closed them and shook his head.
“No?”
“No, Kazimir.”
“Well, I have many obsessions.” I slowly rubbed my hands together. “Torture methods is one exciting obsession of mine. Do you know of any good torture methods?”
Boris slowly shook his head.
I grinned. “Kneecapping.”
Boris twisted his face in confusion.
“Have you heard of it?”
“No, Kazimir.”
“It is when you aim at a man’s knee pit and shoot.” I raised my hand and shot an invisible gun at his kneecaps. “Boom!”
Boris jerked back.
I lowered my hand. “The poor bastard ends up in the hospital for several weeks. At times, the damage is too great, and amputation may be necessary. No more running or walking.”
Boris opened his mouth.
“Then, there is premature burial.” I edged toward him, cutting away two feet between us. “Surely, you heard of that?”
Boris’s bottom lip quivered. “No.”
“One simply places the person into a wooden casket and buries him underground.” I stepped forward taking away another foot between us. “The person is trapped with not much fresh air to breathe. Nothing to eat. Unable to truly move his body. No light, just darkness.”
“Kazimir. . .have I done something?”
“In Ancient Rome, when vestal virgins violated their oath of celibacy, they would be buried just like that. Can you imagine that?”
“No.”
“I can.” I closed the distance. Now only five inches ran between us. I had to admit. I was impressed that Boris didn’t step away.
Our eyes locked.
Confusion painted his expression.
While I was sure my own face displayed a twisted, manic intensity.
Oh, Boris. The things that I am going to do to you.
A minute of unsettling silence passed.
The whole time I just watched him as this frightening mix of chaotic rage and volcanic hot adrenaline spun within my core.
The space grew thick and oppressive.
Slowly, his eyes twitched, and his focus wavered. Then, he broke contact.
Fast, I placed my hand on his shoulder.
He flinched.
I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Did you like what you saw?”
His body trembled under my hand. “W-when? W-what?”
I tightened my grip on his shoulder. “You do not know what I am talking about?”
Fear filled his eyes. “N-no.”
I let go of his shoulder, lifted my hand, and cupped his right cheek. “Oh, Boris.”
His skin prickled with a chill, the kind of chill that pierced the body in panic.
I relished in his terror. “You do not remember?”
“N-no.”
“Then, let me remind you.” I patted his cheek and lowered my hand to his neck. “I imagine that you stood in the hallway by yourself last night.”
Some of my men looked our way. Surely, they were all puzzled with what was going on. The Brotherhood was full of a bunch of gossiping men. This moment would be the top conversation for the rest of the week.
“Tell me, Boris.” I leaned in closer. “Was it my mouse’s moans that lured you to the door? Did they echo through the hallway? Did they vibrate down to your bones, stirring your desire? Making you hard?”
“I-I do not—”
“My mouse’s moans were slowly building passionate cries. Seducing. Rising and falling, but never faltering.” I exhaled. “Due to that, I can understand why you opened the door. Why you chose to look.”
Instantly, he became frozen with alarm, unable to move, and petrified to the ground. Sweat beaded along his forehead.