Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
A gunshot rings out and Sharon jumps. My eyes go to where the sound came from and Ace chuckles.
“I’ll keep you safe. The only big bad you need to watch out for is me.”
I giggle as I slide my arm through his. We walk inside and he guides us to the staircase that leads up. When we pass the first door my palms begin to get sweaty, and when we reach the second door he stops, reading the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign.
“Ace, you aren’t stealing our company for the night, now, are you?”
Turning around to a perfect smile being pushed our way, I see Carter leaning against the wall. Ace flicks the door open anyway and nods for us to enter. It’s damn dark. So, Sharon reaches for the light and flicks it on, and then she screams so loudly my ears ring as I stand there trying to hide my smile.
“What on earth, woman,” Carter says looking to Ace. “You bring a broken one?”
Walking into the room, pushing Ace and I backward, Carter says one simple word, “Fuck.”
Ace steps in, and I follow closely behind so I can see. There the fucker is, lying on the bed, eyes wide open, not breathing. No one knew he was there for a good twenty-four hours. Enough time for the drug to kick in and kill him. He had no chance. Carter runs over, his hand goes to his chest, but we all know before he even starts CPR that he’s dead.
No one who’s alive looks like that—gray pasty skin, mouth hanging open, death stare, and a smell that is acrid to my senses.
“Ben. Come on, man,” Carter says pushing again.
“Who’s that?” I ask Ace, and I’m more than a little surprised when he answers.
“That’s his brother,” Ace replies.
Carter tries furiously pushing on Mack’s chest. I can see it now, the resemblance. Granted Carter’s way better looking, but as he tries to revive his extremely dead brother, I don’t feel a touch of guilt or an ounce of sympathy and definitely no remorse. I’ve done the world a favor by taking him off this planet.
“You girls best wait downstairs, the boss won’t be happy about this.”
I reach for a frozen Sharon and pull on her arm, so she turns, but she falls and trips, her hands landing on the broken glass from the night before when Mack threw the bottle. Blood begins to seep from the cuts in her hands and Ace swears. He looks at me, all lust gone now from his dark brown eyes. “Clean her the fuck up…” he pauses, “… downstairs.”
I pull her up and out and he shuts the door. Sharon looks at her bleeding hands shaking her head, but she really doesn’t seem to be all there at the moment. “This is bad.” It’s all she says as tears start leaving her eyes and run down her cheeks. I wipe them away feeling somewhat responsible for this mess she’s found herself in.
“I’ll bandage them up. It’ll be fine.”
She shakes her head. “No, it won’t. I need them to dance. How am I meant to dance the pole with injured hands?”
I look at them, and notice they’re bleeding heavily now and probably need stitching. We reach the bottom step, and I pull her into the kitchen. Wrapping a cloth I find folded on the bench around her hand, I position her on the counter. “Wait here, while I try to find something else.” Before I can walk away, another girl steps in holding a first aid kit, and hands it to me. She’s young, actually younger than Heather.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
She looks to Sharon’s hands and shakes her head. “What happened up there?” she asks, her head nodding to the stairs we just came down from.
“Some guy’s dead up there, on the bed,” Sharon says.
“Mack?” she asks.
I nod my head.
She smiles.
There’s no sadness in her eyes at all, if anything I think she’s happy about it.
“Good. He was mean. So mean.” She looks at her wrists, and I see bruises there.
“What did he do to you?” I ask.
She glances back over her shoulder. “He did it to all the girls. The animal likes forceful sex.” She shivers as the words leave her mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
She looks down and I look away trying not to catch her eyes again so she will be able to compose herself. Opening the kit, I start fixing Sharon’s hands.
“Who’s the boss?” Sharon asks.
The little thing perks up at that. “That’s Jasper. He doesn’t play all the time like the boys do, though. He’s more…” she pauses lost in thought, “… serious.”
“Are they mafia?” Sharon tries to whisper, but it’s barely a whisper considering we all hear her.
“They are.”
I smile already knowing this—the Italian Mafia to be exact. Some may look sweet, but they will kill you if you cross them, sometimes for even just looking at them. They’re anything but damn sweet.