Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 118114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Chess, Tristan, Josh, Tyler, Vic, Georgie and Deck all stood in the foyer as her hand curled around my arm, pulled me to a halt and swung me around. Then her arms came up, hooked my neck, fingers bunched in my hair and she yanked my head down to hers. Then her lips met mine and the whole thing was fuckin’ hot.
I never realized how erotic it was kissing a woman. Never did it before London. Never wanted to or cared to. Kissing was personal. It was more than raw, unemotional sex. It held much more power because it connected you in a way that sex didn’t. You could fuck a girl and not care, but to me, you couldn’t kiss a girl and not give a shit about her.
Maybe I was alone in thinking this way. Guys kissed chicks all the time, knowing they were there only for a quick fuck. But I wasn’t like most guys.
I didn’t care that everyone was watching her kiss me. Didn’t care about anything at the time except her coming to me and kissing me. But when our mouths finally came apart, it was London telling me she loved me and to be careful that hit the hardest. I’d replied. “Always, baby.”
I’d never had anyone give a shit if I came back from an assignment. If I lived or died. London gave that to me. London made me feel alive. Her breath was mine. Her heart. Her body. Her mind. All of her was in me and belonged to me. I’d do anything for her and her kissing me, everyone watching and her not caring they were, then me leaving and seeing the tears in my girl’s eyes… fuck, that was the greatest gift she could’ve given me.
Now, I slide into a booth, the red plastic crinkling as I did, the waitress’s shoes clinking on the linoleum as she came out of the back and sauntered toward me with a pot of coffee in her hand. Her half-bitten-off fingernails and dry hands passed me a menu.
“Need a moment, handsome?” she asked in a high-pitched voice.
I leaned one arm on the table and smiled up at her. She was in her forties, straw-blonde hair with dark, one-inch roots showing and styled in a bob that made her face appear rounder than it was. She wore too much makeup and there was a red smudge on her front tooth from her lipstick she had probably just re-applied when I walked in and no one was behind the counter.
“Been here before and know the omelet is good. Greek.” The bell went and she looked over her shoulder. I didn’t. I knew it was Dorsey because I’d positioned myself at a window where I could clearly see cars pulling up and a limo had ten seconds ago. I flipped over the coffee cup on the opposite side of the table. “Another coffee, darling.” I winked and she cocked her hip smiling, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks.
“Sure thing, handsome.”
Dorsey’s dress shoes tapped as he treaded toward me and I got a lot from that. Even. Steady. Unconcerned. Which meant he was pretty damn confident. But then so was I. More so now that I had an idea where the farm was. Tyler and Vic were currently researching every known big-time drug dealer in Colombia who had been known to have Devil’s breath.
The waitress moved away as Dorsey slid into the booth, his one hand immediately wrapping around the coffee mug. It was a crutch, a subtle sign of insecurity that had me inwardly smiling.
Dorsey had two men in suits standing at the car, both with their arms crossed and watching through the window. He also had a man who came in the door behind him and sat on a swivel stool at the counter. Yeah, he was insecure, as he should be. He knew how I was trained and what I was capable of.
I skipped the pleasantries as I sat back, my arm resting on the back of the seat. “Ernie?”
Dorsey took a sip of coffee then nodded. “In the back of the limo.” I didn’t let the relief show. He put his mug down and took a serviette from underneath the cutlery and dabbed his thin lips.
He wore a suit with over-priced cuff links glittering like a beacon, and a tie, silverfish grey with a light striping and done up tight to his neck. I never wore a tie. Hated them for the simple reason that a tie was a noose around your neck and could easily kill you in the right hands. I didn’t need my wire when a man wore a fuckin’ tie.
Dorsey was handsome enough for mid-sixties, dignified appearance with sharp features and short, salt and pepper hair. He didn’t have an issue getting the girls he wanted and according to what I knew about him, he liked brunettes, tall, and a quarter his age.