Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“I know.” He gives me a stern nod. “Of course I know. But this is different. You let her get close. Close enough to almost end your life. That’s never happened before. You underestimated her, and it almost got you killed.”
“It wasn’t underestimation. It was more of a—I don’t know—”
“I saw the way you were looking at her.” He sighs.
I smirk. No point denying it. I want a taste, even if it’s poisonous as fuck.
“You’re a lost cause.” His tone is almost sad, and I definitely detect disappointment in his puppy dog eyes. “I’ll get some ice for the bruise. You may even have a sternum fracture. Hard to say without imaging.” He strides to the kitchen.
I’m just glad he didn’t spit out some bullshit about me going in for a—
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to get seen by …”
I ignore the rest of what he says and pull my laptop back to me. Another email has popped up. I delight in receiving information, and even more so now that I have such an interesting target. One with a body I wanted to bend over that boardroom table, not giving a shit about the consequences. Evelyn’s good looking, no two ways about it, but more than that, she’s got some fucking steel in her spine. Some fight. And fuck, my cock twitches to life just thinking about the way she felt in my arms. Pulse racing, her lips parted, fear and anger in her eyes, like she wanted to run but also stab me through the heart at the same time.
Teddy wraps the ice pack around my chest as I keep reading. Before I know it, it’s afternoon, and I’m not much closer to finding out Evelyn’s true identity. I’ve learned quite a bit, though. Where she lives, her habits, her recent past, and a few interesting tidbits about what she’s done with the companies she’s strong-armed.
Her schtick wasn’t just a schtick. She might not be the real Evelyn Delacroix with an MBA, but she knows what she’s doing. She doesn’t break up companies and sell them off like a lot of bloodthirsty capitalists do. Her numbers add up, and she’s pulled two companies from the brink of extinction.
“Teddy, I need another bottle.” I hold up the empty whiskey, then look around. “Teddy?” Shit, he must be back at the hospital. The little prick is saving lives when he should be here refilling my glass.
My phone pings, and I check the message. More information, none of it particularly vital.
Private number: Evelyn Delacroix is a ghost. I’ve tracked her back to her first position working for a hedge fund in New York. She climbs the ranks, bounces around from bank to bank, then goes out on her own. She pulled the capital from an account in the Caymans to start her business, but that’s as far as I could go.
An account in the fucking Caymans? Is she a drug kingpin? If so, I’m down. But something tells me that’s not the case. There’d be no reason for her to come after me. I trade in sugar, not the other white stuff. Not to say I haven’t done a ton of dirt in my life. I have. My hands are covered in blood, so it’s not unusual that someone would show up with a grudge against me. It’s happened before. Just not like this.
No, Evelyn’s a much more complicated puzzle than simple money, business acumen, and an unexplained thirst for vengeance. At least I’m the only one she’s after. She didn’t look twice at Sin or Teddy, but I felt her staring daggers at me. I really wish I knew why she had such a hard-on for my blood.
Not that it bothers me. Not at all. I smile. I like her violence. She wants my blood. I like that, too. When I get her on all fours, I want her to hate how much she loves me fucking her.
I toss the laptop beside me and lean back, the ache in my chest still there but also sort of numb thanks to the ice. Every pulse of pain reminds me of that minx.
“Who are you, Evelyn?” I ask the empty penthouse. “And what the fuck did I do to you?”
10
Evelyn
After a sleepless night, I’m staring at the alarm clock when it starts to beep. I hit the off button, then snuggle back into my pillow, one hand beneath it and wrapped around the butt of my 9 millimeter.
All night long, my head has been buzzing with the memory of killing Lucius juxtaposed with the memory of Lucius cornering me in the parking garage. He’s very much alive, and he fucking knows. He knows it was me. That knowledge alone is enough to ensure that I never sleep again. But what’s worse than Lucius still drawing breath? I roll over and stare at the black envelope on the far corner of my dresser.