Imperfect Affections (Beauty in Imperfection #2) Read Online Charmaine Pauls

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Crime, Dark, Mafia, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Beauty in Imperfection Series by Charmaine Pauls
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Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
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My mother raises her hands. Her voice is pleading. “It wasn’t like that.”

“No?” He utters a cruel laugh. “By definition of the mechanics of sex, there’s only one way how it works—with his dick in one of the holes of your body.” He waves the gun in my direction. “And your daughter covered up for you. You’re something else, the two of you. Cheating, deceiving, unthankful whores.”

Terror runs through my veins. My muscles freeze, locking me in place. It’s the warehouse all over again, the ugly blacks and charcoals drawing a stark picture of our fates.

“No, Gus. Please.” My mom holds up her hands as if the gesture will miraculously keep him at a distance or stop him from pulling the trigger. “Violet had nothing to do with it. She didn’t know. She’s innocent.”

“How many times?” he asks, his expression enraged. “How many times did you take his dick in your cunt? Or was it up your ass?”

Snapping out of it, I step over the threshold. “It wasn’t her fault.” My voice is calm even though my heart slings like a hammer between my ribs. Cautiously, I inch toward my mom. “It was a setup.”

“Shut up,” Gus says through clenched teeth. Raising the volume of his voice, he calls, “Flora, you come out from wherever you’re hiding or I’ll chop off your hand when I find you.”

A sob comes from the other side of the foyer. I don’t doubt Gus’s threat for a second. He’ll go after Flora, and he won’t stop until he’s found her, no matter how far or for how long he has to search. She must believe him too, because a moment later, she appears in the doorframe of the adjoining dining room with her hands raised and quiet sobs shaking her shoulders.

“Did you call the cops?” Gus asks.

She shakes her head vehemently. “No, sir.”

“Come closer. I can’t hear you.”

Shivering, she takes two reluctant steps into the room and says a little louder, “No, sir.”

His smile is taunting. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It won’t help. I own every judge in this city.”

“No, sir,” she says again, her croaky voice breaking on the last word. “I swear on my life. I’m loyal to you, sir. You know I am.”

“Good,” he says, his control back in place.

Turning the gun on Flora, he aims the barrel between her eyes and pulls the trigger.

My body jerks with shock. With the silencer, the shot doesn’t ring out. The pop that sounds is deceivingly demure. It doesn’t scream death like it did that day when I was ten years old, but the same glassy look I saw in the man’s eyes comes over Flora’s even before her knees buckle and her sinewy legs fold under her weight. The hole in her forehead is perfectly round, but the bits of gray matter and blood that spray the wall indicate the wound is uglier at the back of her head.

A silent scream catches in my throat. Maybe it’s the conditioning from all those years ago and the silence Gus forced from me, but I’m incapable of paying Flora any last respects by giving sound to the injustice. Only my mom’s mangled gasp breaks the thick, stilted quiet.

I rush to my mom’s side, putting an arm around her trembling body. We huddle together, my mom pinching her eyes shut and me keeping mine wide open.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say through numb lips when I finally find my voice again.

Gus laughs as if my statement is funny. “With what I have planned for you and your whoring mother, I’m not leaving any witnesses. You’ll beg me to kill you long before I’m done with you.” His upper lip curls. “I’m going to—”

Pop.

It sounds like another gunshot quieted by a silencer, but I can’t place from where it came. My mom’s eyes fly open. Gus looks down. A red stain grows on his shirt over the left side of his chest. It takes me a moment to get my brain to function and to put two and two together.

I glance over my shoulder. Leon is standing in the doorframe with an outstretched arm and his Glock in his hand.

He shot Gus.

Then two things happen at once. Gus returns fire, and Elliot jumps through the French doors with a gun pointed in front of him. Locking his fingers around my bicep, my stepbrother yanks me in front of him like a shield while pushing his gun against my temple.

My mom screams.

“Take that, motherfucker,” Gus grunts, sinking to his knees as his legs cave in.

Elliot sidesteps his father, pulling me with him until we’re in front of the fireplace.

My gaze finds Leon, my heart threatening to explode from my chest, and then I go colder than what I already am. A trickle of blood runs from my husband’s side, dripping down his leg.


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