Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
“What the fuck made this so important?” Eli asks, slamming the front door to the penthouse closed while grabbing the gun out of his inside jacket.
Rolling my eyes, I unclasp my jacket and toss it onto the kitchen counter. “You can put that away, you know. This place is safe. No one can touch me here, and I need—”
A hand slams over my mouth, forcing my back against a hard chest. A gun cocks before Eli can. “No, no. No stupid business…” I don’t recognize the voice behind me. Not even a little.
He continues to move us backward, but my eyes stay locked on Eli.
He keeps his focus on me, but his words are for the intruder. “You know, I’m impressed. You’ve got balls to lay hands on the Kiznitch princess.”
“Hmmm, interesting you say that…” another voice says, and I try to shuffle out of the firm grip. His hand clenches tighter. Dammit. I really wish today wasn’t a combat day. My limbs ache from being overworked. I don’t think I can even throw a decent punch right now.
Eli’s eyes widen in shock before finally looking away from me and over my shoulder. “What the fuck do you want?”
“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” A Zippo opens and snaps closed. “I’ve come to collect what is mine.”
Confusion overrides my panic. The man behind me lowers us to a single sofa, spreading his legs until I fall between them. His fingers sprawl over my belly and I still.
Eli’s face morphs to something entirely different. A little straighter and a little less lopsided with his signature grin. “No…”
The hand that’s still covering my mouth tightens.
“Oh… yes…” I look between the two of them, confused with the conversation they’re having. Maybe I was right in thinking that the person who was following us had something to do with Eli. I mean, Nial did say they’re part of some secret society cult thing that is pretty much the same as the mob.
Eli leans back in his chair, his eyes now never moving from the man on the chair opposite. He’s older—I’d say mid-forties, with graying hair on the sides and a constant smirk I wish I could rub off my skin. “Who knows?”
The old man holds his stare as he slowly raises his cigar to his thin lips. “No one outside this room.”
“You can’t,” Eli responds instantly, so fast I know for sure that they’re having a weird conversation.
“And why is that?” the man asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thigh. Maybe he wants Eli—why? I don’t know—but this has definitely got to do with him and not me, since it’s obvious Eli knows whomever he is.
Eli matches his stance, unbuttoning his suit jacket and leaning on his thighs. He lowers his voice when he answers. “Because you know who I am.”
The man seems to pause, as if he’s going to laugh. I mean, he’s going to laugh, right? Eli may have a shadow that hovers over him the same way it does The Brothers, but he’s still basically a child, and this man looks like he just climbed from the wilderness.
The man leans back in his chair. “Are you going to take it instead?”
Eli’s jaw clenches, and I reach up for the hand that’s covering my mouth, attempting to tear it away, but he only squeezes harder and he’s much stronger than me. Shit. I’m never wanting to be in this position again.
“Not yet—but yes.”
The man looks between Eli and me, his brows curved downward as if he’s trying to figure out what our situation is. I don’t even know what our situation is, so good luck to anyone else trying to figure it out.
“Done.” He stands, stubbing his cigar out on my carpet. Motherfucker. “I’ll be back when I’m ready.” Then he curls his finger and gestures toward the man who is holding me, and he finally releases his grip around my mouth, shoving me off him. They both saunter out of the kitchen and through the front door, slamming it on their way out.
“What the fuck was that about?” I look up at Eli from the floor, swiping the leftover dribble from my lip.
He smiles down at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing you have to worry about just yet.”
Three years later
Present
The room is dark. There are LED lights that line the outskirts of the floor and tables, and smoke machines that spill fog out around your feet. Music plays gently in the background, but it does nothing to distract my thoughts.
They think I care enough to run.
That I’m doing the usual Cartier and running away from my problems, but they’re wrong.
“Another?” The bartender holds up a bottle of Grey Goose. He’s young. Around the age of Jordan when I first met him.
I slide my glass toward him with my index finger. “Thanks.” He watches me carefully as he continues to pour in the vodka.