Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
I drop my cell to the countertop and tip my head back, cursing under my breath. He's right. Brady is like a brother to me, and I am being a dick, but Brady didn't just slip up and blow the case, losing the guns and our shot at taking out half of the people Guerrero has stationed in Los Angeles. A fucking cartel member tailed him home to his wife and son, had them at gunpoint, and he didn't have a clue. Had I not shown up when I did, who knows what would have happened to Carla and Andres?
There are rules in this line of work, and they're inviolable for a reason. You keep your head down and your eyes open, and you don't get caught. The rules keep people like Carla and Andres safe. They're the entire fucking reason I've spent the last decade of my life keeping Tahani as far from Los Angeles as possible. And that shit fucking kills me.
My time with her has always been shorter than it should have been. I was just a kid when I met her mom, sixteen and wild as all hell. We spent a summer together, and that was that—or so I thought until I got a phone call fourteen years later from a precocious little girl claiming she belonged to me.
My entire world changed that day. When I met her for the first time a week later, I promised myself I would do whatever I had to do to be a part of her life and keep her safe.
Brady didn't just put his family in danger. He put mine in danger, too. I was the one who shot Javier in the head when he aimed a gun at Andres. I'm the one they're going to be looking for if they ever figure out that Brady didn't kill him. It's my family that they're going to come after. My fucking daughter.
That shit isn't okay with me.
And neither is lusting after her best friend.
Fuck if that's stopped me, though. I've wanted Mila for four damn years. And for four damn years, I've fought it, refusing to go there. But a man can only take so much. I can't have her, but I haven't been able to touch another woman since I met her because she's all I think about.
How fucked up is that?
I'm hung up on a girl young enough to be my daughter.
Tahani would kill me if she had a clue about the things I fantasize about doing to Mila. She would rip my balls off if she knew how many times I've gotten myself off to the thought of Mila's lips wrapped around my dick while I fuck her mouth or how many times I've come imagining her nails in my skin while she rides me. She’d never speak to me again if she had an inkling of the kinkier shit I’ve thought about teaching her curvy best friend.
"Oh, um, hi," Mila mumbles from behind me as if simply thinking about her conjured her up.
I spin around to face her, only to bite back a curse as soon as my gaze lands on her. She's in a bikini. A fucking bikini. Every dip and curve of her gorgeous little body is on display. Her skin looks like silk against the stark white fabric. Her tits practically spill out of the top, her nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric. The tiny bottom barely covers her juicy pussy.
Her hair is pinned up on top of her head, pieces waving wildly around her face. Her green eyes are wide with surprise, and her mouth hangs open as if she didn't expect to see me here and isn't sure what to make of me.
Every fucked up, depraved fantasy I've had about her over the last four years slams into me like a tidal wave, and I feel myself getting rock hard all over again. My dick strains against the unforgiving zipper of my jeans, throbbing with desire.
"Fuck!" I curse loudly.
She opens her mouth to say something, but I don't wait around to hear what. Instead, I snatch my phone off the counter and storm out of the room, leaving her standing in the kitchen yet again.
Chapter Four
Mila
I stand there with my mouth hanging open as Mr. Gregory stalks out of the room as if just seeing me has him ready to explode.
"What the hell?" I whisper, wondering what I did to piss him off. And then I jump when a door upstairs slams so hard glass panes rattle all across the condo.
I don't know what I did to earn his wrath, but damn! He's scary when he's angry.
Scary hot, a little voice in the back of my mind whispers.
It’s not wrong. He is scary-hot. Jesus.
A little rude, too.
I've gone out of my way to stay out of his way since he walked out of the kitchen the other night, leaving me turned on and confused. The look in his eyes when he demanded I say his name…well, I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one all hot and bothered. I think some part of him felt the same attraction I’ve always felt toward him. Stupidly, I thought maybe he'd asked me to stay because he actually planned to do something about it.