Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Feeling proud as fuck of her courage, I grinned. “That’s why I married her. She’s a Martinez now, after all.”
He arched an eyebrow and smirked. “You and your sister are a lot alike. You both think your last name is a shield of defense, like I give a flying fuck who you are.”
“You may not give a rat’s ass who we are now, but you sure as shit give a flying fuck about the man you work for, or you wouldn’t be standing in front of me giving me shit. He’s using you. You know that, right? You’re just his bitch.”
“Coming from someone who used to be his father’s, it doesn’t mean much.”
“I have everything you could possibly want. I can offer you money, power, the sky’s the limit. Just say the word and I’ll make it all yours.”
“Is this where you tell me if I take allegiance with you, you’ll be my fairy godmother?”
“This is where I tell you if you take allegiance with me,” I cocked my head to the side, looking him up and down with a serious expression, “I won’t fucking kill you.”
“Hmm…” He lifted his gun to his temple, tapping it in a contemplating gesture before pointing it at me. “How about I tell you a story?”
Narrowing my gaze at him, I was curious where he was going with this.
“You grew up in your daddy’s house with money and protection. Prestige. Affection. Devotion from two loving parents. You lived a life of fucking fairy tales and happily ever afters. You wanted for nothing and asked for everything. Your cocky, arrogant attitude makes you a fucking prick. You walked into this world already at the top of the hierarchy, without having to prove yourself. It was handed to you by your daddy. You’re a trust fund baby who kills people in four thousand-dollar Armani suits, wearing a fucking Rolex, and Italian leather shoes. Give me a fucking break. You’re a wannabe gangster. Driving around in your sports car, thinking you’re the devil because it’s your legacy or some shit.” He shook his head, disgusted.
“I was raised by a whore who let men stub their cigarettes out on my skin.”
I jerked back, not expecting him to share this personal information with me. I wondered where he was going with this sob story.
“No one wiped my ass, motherfucker. Everything I have is because I’ve earned it. I answer to no one. I do what I want, say what I feel. I don’t give two shits about what anyone thinks or has to say about me. I’m my own man and I rely on no one in this life. The day my mother was buried, I pissed on her grave and asked them to bury her deeper into the ground, so she’d be closer to Hell. Women are the root of all evil, and I learned that the first time she used me as her pawn to score drugs. So…” He grinned, waving his Glock around.
“Mommy Dearest is the reason I have trust issues, I’m going to pass on your offer. But fuck you very much for assuming I’d take allegiance with a man I have yet to see do anything worthwhile. Your wife has bigger balls than you do.”
“You trust the man you—”
“I. Trust. No. One. Not even myself.”
“Who are you then?”
“Who am I?” he rasped in a mocking tone. “I’ve been trying to figure that out for the last twenty-eight years. My whole life is one big what the fuck, so spare me the psychoanalysis, dickwad. I know what you’re doing. It won’t work. You can’t pull your reverse psychology bullshit on me. I don’t want to be saved. In fact, I love being the villain,” he paused, letting his words sink in. “Now it’s time to go.”
“Go where?”
“Upstairs. Third room on your right. But first…” He grabbed the metal detector off the mantle. “I need to make sure you’re being a good little boy, following orders, and didn’t bring any toys.”
I held my hands up in the air. “I have nothing on me.”
“Then you won’t have a problem if I check.”
While he was hovering the device over my body, I resisted the urge to knock him the fuck out. Instead, I glanced around the room taking stock of what was around me and controlling my instincts to put him in his place. His offensive verbiage didn’t mean shit to me. If anything, I wanted to prove him wrong. Show him what happens to the men who throw stones in glass houses.
They fall.
Hard.
Fast.
Into nothing but debris birds shit on.
Shaking away the impulse, I focused on the furniture which was covered in plastic sheets. There were spiderwebs in almost every corner of the living room we were standing in. Dust covered every piece of furniture from the coffee table to the wall art, to the decorations spread throughout the vast space. At one point, someone lived here.