Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
They started a war, and now it was up to me…To end it.
Or it will end.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
LUKE
Another day.
Another black-fucking-tie event where the corrupt gathered with masks like they were part of the Illuminati.
Sloan consumed my thoughts.
My actions.
The same way she always had since the first time I laid eyes on her.
Although no matter how hard I tried or how many people I threatened, I still couldn’t find her.
I shook off my demons, knowing now was not the time nor the place to reminisce about the hold she’d forever have on me. I was worried sick, trying to keep my shit together and my temper in check. The last thing I needed was to cause her more harm than I already had.
So I simply straightened the lapels of my tuxedo jacket and exited the limo shortly after ten o’clock, welcoming the cool night breeze attempting to soothe the inferno burning inside me. I walked through a well-maintained courtyard full of greenery that went on for miles, enclosing the vast property where the event was being held.
I swiftly made my way over to the two sets of stairs to the main entrance, where several men stood checking guests in at the door.
I didn’t waver, saying the safe words that would let me in, which was a quote from Alice in Wonderland. “Follow me down the rabbit hole.”
Sick fucks.
They nodded, checked my fake passport, and handed it back to me.
“Enjoy your evening,” one of them greeted.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hopeful I’d find something out about who was behind this and who took my girl. If they so much as put a finger on her, I’d make them choke on their own cocks before I put them to ground for touching what’s mine.
Her cell phone was still dead, and I didn’t know where she lived. I literally just knew her first name, and although she had a following through her career, there was no other information about her. She didn’t have social media. My GM only made her sign a contract that required a signature, which she signed as Duchess. It wasn’t like he paid any attention to it. It was a club, meaning it was a revolving door for new and old employees.
The few pictures I found of her online weren’t much and didn’t lead anywhere either. I even called Ricardo from the Cuban restaurant where I ran into her. He didn’t know who I was talking about. He saw so many tourists come in and out, it was hard for him to keep track of one specific young girl.
The guard signaled toward the large doors of what appeared to be a nineteenth-century Gothic-style mansion with high pointed peaks that formed a steepled roof, ascending toward the dark sky. Windows upon windows took over the front exterior, reaching three or four stories high. You couldn’t see where the estate started or where it ended.
It was rare to find an entire manor constructed of old rustic concrete and stone in Venezuela, but here we are. Someone paid a shitload of money to make this happen. Old-century architecture at its finest, giving off an eerie vibe before you even step foot inside. It was the only fucking point of owning this type of estate. A property like this was bought for one reason alone—complete and utter privacy, used for anything goes.
I walked over the threshold into an immense foyer laced with floor-to-ceiling intricate dark mahogany woodwork, housing the most dramatic grand staircase I’d ever seen that split at the top. A huge Gothic-style chandelier with real burning candles hung above my head, illuminating the menacing lure of the space. It cast shadows off the two sculpted eagles perched on their own pillars that guarded the stairs.
All this only fueled my rampant thoughts of all the fucked-up shit that could easily go down behind these closed doors. Though the scent of expensive cigars, sophisticated cologne, and designer perfume caught my attention the most. It screamed nothing but cold, hard cash.
No doubt it was blood money.
The whole decor and allure of this place was ominous and demoralizing. Every room had the same theme throughout—a haunting, leering feeling of being watched. Death peered around every corner you turned. To the point you could practically breathe in the souls being dragged to hell, clawing at your feet to join them. I could sense these jaded walls had witnessed more torturous brutality than I cared to think about.
I grabbed a drink at the bar, looking for the reason I was even here, but I didn’t find her or anyone else familiar since everyone was in costume and wearing a mask. Among the lavishly dressed groups of people, pussy and violence were in the air.
It was distinctive.
You’d never forget the feeling.
“Sir, welcome. Would you like me to escort you to the main event?” a busty brunette asked, bringing my attention to her.