Of Snakes and Men Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Crime, Mafia Tags Authors: Jessica Gadziala Advertisement1

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I was annoyed for myself.

But at the thought of Hope getting caught up in my shit? Yeah, that was something else entirely. Something a fuckuva lot more heated.

She had Val.

If nothing else, if no one else would protect her, Val would.

Tha dog was borderline obsessed with her.

And I knew him to be protective.

So there was that.

And, of course, her own skills.

I wasn’t an idiot. All those bikers, they had their little girls in self-defense classes since they were toddling. Not that basic-ass women’s self-defense shit, either. No. They got them trained in all the different styles of military fighting.

She could handle herself.

So long as someone didn’t sneak up on her and just shoot.

“Fuck,” I growled, knuckles going white as I held the wheel.

By the time my house was in sight, my jaw was aching it was clenched so tight, and I swear I could feel the blood pulsing through every vein in my fucking body.

The guys at the gate barely had time to open it before I was flying through, then up to the front door.

I didn’t cut the engine.

Hell, I barely remembered to put it in park.

“Boss, what’s…” one of my men started as I flew up the stairs, gun in hand.

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the slam of the door behind me as I rushed inside.

My neck was on a pivot, looking through the front rooms as I moved toward the back.

But she was nowhere.

I ran up the stairs, heart lodged in my fucking throat.

“Hope?” I hissed when I burst into her room, finding it empty.

Her bathroom was the same.

“Fuck. Fuck!” I yelled, slamming a fist into the wall, leaving a dent, then turning and making my way back out.

Maybe she’d been in the bathroom downstairs. Or out back with the dogs again. Or had left to head home for a bit.

There was no reason to think she’d been fucking taken.

I rushed through all the rooms on the second floor, flinging open every closet, checking each bathroom, then went back to the main floor, doing the same.

My head felt like it was spinning, like my balance was off, like I was going to fucking pass out at any moment.

Then I heard a whimper.

Not hope.

Val.

Rushing back around, I yanked open the door to the basement, finding Val standing on the top step, wanting to be let out.

But why?

Was she down there?

Had something happened to her.

I let him out into the house before running down the steps, cursing myself for having such shitty lighting down there.

Then I heard it.

The rush of water.

The thump of the dryer.

My heart seized in my chest as I finally made it into the laundry room, finding her standing over the washer, watching it agitate.

“Mama…”

The sound came out of me like an exhalation.

Like gratitude for an answered prayer

Even if I knew that me and God, yeah, we weren’t likely on good terms after all the shit I’d done.

Hope’s head whipped over, brows lifted as she looked at me.

I didn’t stop to think this time.

I just rushed forward, dropping the gun on the top of the dryer, grabbed her by the back of the head, and crashed my lips down to hers.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Hope

I couldn’t sleep.

After I’d played with the dogs for a while—which, admittedly, was not like me—I’d busied myself with making some food, then stealing one of A’s books, and taking it up to bed with me.

Val, my ever-present, kind of beloved, shadow was with me, curled up over my feet as I tried to focus on the words on the page.

But all I could think about was the fact that it seemed like A was going to try to ambush an untold number of people all by himself.

I mean, yeah, he’d seemed armed. But still. One man against who-knew how many? It was a suicide mission.

I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter, that I didn’t care.

But the way I tossed and turned when I’d finally set the book with its swimming words down on the nightstand and tried to sleep told me two things.

It did matter.

And I did care.

“Damnit,” I hissed, making Val grumble as he moved to the other side of the bed.

Sick of my shit.

Hey, I couldn’t blame him.

I was getting sick of my own shit.

Or, rather, I was getting sick of the way I couldn’t stop thinking about Andres. About his hands on me, his lips on me.

About wanting more of him on me.

In me.

A whimpering sound escaped me as I climbed off the bed, pacing back and forth a few times, thinking I could, I don’t know, exercise the desire and anxiety out of my system.

This giant mansion of his, and no workout room.

I imagined busting my ass on a treadmill for an hour would run through all this pent-up sexual energy. And maybe get the blood flow back to my brain, so I could remember all the reasons that I didn’t, in fact, want to sleep with Andres Alcazar.


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