Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 49989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
But, deep down, part of her heart fluttered, thinking he cared.
Chapter Six
Losing Killian had been too easy.
Everyone expected Priest to play by the rules, and that was a fair assessment because that was all he ever did. Play by the fucking rules, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t change his pattern. He was a trained killer, after all, and was known for not being detected, which was why he was pissed off that someone would come to his home and take what was his.
Fucking Cleo.
She was his responsibility. He would get her back. He just wanted it to be in one piece.
One of his informants had given him information that a mafia hitman known for hunting his bounty and torturing them was holed up in a local brothel. The man went by the name Harb. Some believed it was because he referred to himself as the Harbinger of Death. The bastard was so fucking flawed it was unreal.
Priest didn’t like the fucker.
He’d had several encounters with him over the years. Harb was full of his own ego. He did whatever he wanted, providing he was quoted the right price. Harb wrapped it up in a package that made it look like he was doing the right thing, but it was always about the money.
So long as Harb didn’t get in his way, then he was free and clear, but now the fucker had gone after his woman, and that was not acceptable. He must have picked up the open contract Maurice told him about.
He was going to make sure the piece of shit bled for what he’d done. Priest tried to ignore the fact that he’d mentally claimed Cleo as his own. She was so freaking annoying. And adorable. There was no way he could ever want her. Not him.
He paused as he looked directly in front of him. The brothel had a single glowing red light, stating it was open. The outside was discreet. The guy lurking outside the door, leaning up against the side of the building, seemed to be enjoying a smoke. Only the men with exclusive access knew about this place. No one else was granted access.
Priest knew about it because one of the women he’d saved actually helped run the place. The brothel was considered a kind of safe haven for hitmen. The one zone where killing couldn’t happen.
Men liked easy access to willing pussy, and well, it kept most of them in line.
If he started a fight, then the brothel was closed off to him, not that he’d ever used the place before. Priest didn’t fuck whores for hire. He’d been given access as an extended thank-you gift.
Shaking his head, he couldn’t believe he was actually chasing after a woman. Harb had saved him a job by taking Cleo off his hands. He was free and clear. And a fucking idiot.
Priest wanted to walk away, but he couldn’t do it. All he could think about was Cleo—her fear, another man putting his filthy hands on her.
There was no way he could let her be at the mercy of that fucker. Not now. Not ever.
Harb could be bought for any price, which meant the mafia had to have paid him off. Storming up to the building, he nodded at the man having a smoke, who gave him a single flick of his fingers to allow him access.
The house was quiet as he entered. Of course, it was.
The real action wouldn’t occur until he got past the main security, which was his thumbprint across the private screen. He’d never been here and had thought his print wouldn’t work. If so, his plan B was to break down the door and just start shooting.
Not the best plan, but right now, it was all he had.
The door opened. The personal invitation must never get old.
Stepping into the main house, he heard the soft, subtle sound of music. Some feminine laughter came from the right. Dark wainscotting covered the walls, the carpet in deep burgundy.
Priest moved toward one of the doorways and glanced inside. The lighting was low, but he got the chance to see everything and everyone. Semi-clad women were snuggled up to men, giggling at whatever bullshit they were saying. Paid to laugh at lame-ass jokes. He didn’t find his target in that room, so he moved down the hall, checking out each room as he passed.
There was no sign of Harb, but if his informant said this was the place, then he was here, somewhere.
Stepping upstairs, his hand discreetly on the handle of his gun in its holster, he saw several rooms with their doors closed. He checked the first one, twisting the lock and opening it to find a man getting his dick and balls sucked by two women.
Priest moved on. He couldn’t wait to get out of his cesspool.