Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I wait barely thirty seconds, watching the red light on the front of the automatic locking system on the door. There’s a soft whirring sound before the light turns green.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I take it out, my lips pulling into a sly grin.
Sawyer - All clear.
Fuck yeah.
My hand closes over the handle, and I’m in.
Striding through the house, I notice a soft strip of light shining from beneath a closed door just as Sawyer comes in from the back. I nod toward the door, and his brow arches just seconds before a grin pulls at his lips. As he glances back at me, I have to resist laughing.
This fucker is always on the same wavelength. Besides, there’s nothing like a good trap.
We wait barely twenty seconds before Dalton shows his face in the hallway, each of us blocking every direction. I don’t even get a chance to tell him what’s going on before he notices the light under the door and rolls his eyes. “Fuck, man,” he whispers. “I’m still paying for the last trap I set.”
“Stop being such a fucking pussy,” I tell him.
Dalton has the audacity to look offended as I search the room for something to use to our advantage. Something that will make just enough noise to alarm whoever’s in that room, but not enough to wake their sleeping family upstairs.
I find nothing but a glass vase and cringe, knowing it’ll have to do before Sawyer shuffles further down the hall and crouches down to a mini robot vacuum. He glances back at me, his eyes dark, sick, and twisted. Perfect.
Giving the nod of approval, Sawyer scoops up the robot vacuum and brings it out into the foyer. He positions it directly between the three of us so that whoever’s in there doesn’t come running out and head in the wrong direction. What fun would that be?
He hits the big red button in the center, and like a good little robot, it beeps three times before getting to work. The soft whir of the machine is like music to my ears.
Sawyer quickly shuffles back into position, and just as he gets there, the door whips open, sending the light spilling out into the foyer. Aleksander comes barging out, his eyes wide and in a panic. As he sees me and notices his escape routes are gone, his stare only becoming more frantic.
Without saying a word, he knows what this is about. He knows his time is up.
“Let’s make this fast, Alek,” I say. “I don’t want to be here longer than necessary.”
His gaze shoots around the hall, searching for some way to try and help himself, and when he glances toward the stairs, I let out a heavy sigh. “Don’t be foolish. I don’t want to include them in this, but if you push me, you know damn well I’ll line them up across the wall and have them watch.”
Regaining a little composure, Aleksander strides closer, putting himself directly between the boys and me. “Assuming this is about your little performance at Nikolai’s estate, then you have your wires crossed somewhere,” he states, not bothering to tell me to leave his family out of this, simply jumping to the defense. “Who gave you my name? Was it Abrahms? Harvey? Those bastards are just out to save themselves. It’s their home you should be breaking into, not mine.”
“Wow, you made vows to protect the brotherhood of The Circle, and yet you’re so easily throwing them under the bus,” I say, taking a single step toward him and watching as his eyes shift around the room. He knows damn well just how much trouble he’s in. “You know what that tells me, Aleksander?” I question, drawing my dagger. “That your word is not something I can rely on.”
I take another step, and Dalton and Sawyer do the same, closing in on him. “You betrayed me, Alek, and in doing so, you betrayed the blood. Betrayed your brothers.”
My words send a sharp pain through my chest as Oakley’s face appears in my mind. The real blood heir. The real grandchild of Julius DeVil. I am nothing but a fraud here.
Alek’s gaze drops to my dagger, watching as I spin it between my fingers and he shakes his head, desperate for some way out of this. “I . . . I—”
“I need a name, Aleksander. Who’s behind these attacks on Oakley Quinn?”
He spits at me, a nasty sneer pulling up the corner of his lips. This desperate attempt to save himself quickly morphing into obvious guilt. “I’ll never tell you,” he spits. “You don’t deserve to stand there. You’re weak, pitiful. You’ll run Empire into the ground.”
“A name, Alek,” I repeat, taking another step, a lion closing in on its prey. “Give me a name and I will make this quick.”