Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“You have a plan?” Czar asked.
Ambrielle knew she looked smug. She couldn’t help it. “I do. My father was in the service, and the one thing he taught me was to always have a really good battle plan.”
“Master, sit down. I want to hear your woman’s plan.”
EIGHTEEN
It didn’t matter that Master was going into Crawley Prison as a free man; the moment he entered, he felt that same stink. His skin was instantly covered in slime. Poison ran in his veins. Hatred. He remembered every single time he’d been beaten into submission as a child. Every gang rape. It happened every time. Rage washed through him. Not anger. Rage. It swirled in his gut, threatening to eat him from the inside out.
He felt the change coming over him, that other part of him moving to take over. The killer was strong in him, far stronger than the husband who had managed to find a degree of tenderness in him he hadn’t known existed. He had to bury that shit deep. It didn’t belong anywhere in this shithole. That kind of thing could get him killed fast.
He walked with total confidence past the guards, giving one the finger when the man went to say something to him. He was not Kir Vasiliev, shuffling into the prison with cuffs on his wrists and ankles. He was Titus Ustrashkin, Helena Smirnov’s closest companion, that man who accompanied her to Crawley Prison each time she came.
Fortunately, the real Titus had a big build, much like Master. He was ripped, and his purpose in life was to intimidate or kill. He carried his muscle in his arms and chest, but he wasn’t muscle-bound; he could move fast. Like Master, he had trained in one of Sorbacov’s schools and had been doing assassination work from the time he was a teenager. Master wore thin gloves over his hands to cover the fact that he didn’t have the snake tattoo. He wore rings on his fingers under the gloves just as Titus wore. If, for some reason, he had to remove the gloves, he had a fake replica of the snake drawn in perfect detail by Ink. There was no doubt in his mind it would pass muster.
Beside Titus, Helena appeared to stroll down the hall, placing one foot in front of the other as if strutting down a runway. Her glossy dark hair swung around her chin, drawing attention to the fact that she had perfect skin. She had beautiful dark eyes and perfect lips. She was dressed in a slinky skirt that fell below her knees yet clung to her, so that every step appeared sensual and wholly feminine. On her index finger, she wore a gold ring, a snake coiled around the finger with vicious fangs and striking eyes of glittering diamonds.
Even with Lana walking so confidently beside him, nothing could remove the stink of prison from his mind or his skin. The stench slowly invaded until it coated his bones and began to wrap around and pierce every organ. Lana suddenly looked up at him as if she knew what was happening to him, her eyes wide with too many memories. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
Like Ambrie. Pushing at his killer. He inhaled her fragrance. She was wearing Ambrie’s scent. What the hell? No one smelled like Ambrielle. He leaned down. Lana was tall, and it wasn’t far. Ambrielle was a tiny little thing. His fairy princess barely reached his pecs.
“What the fuck, Lana? You smell like her.” He whispered the question in her ear, a furious demand, because really, it gutted him to take his princess into that hellhole with him. She’d asked to come. Even had a cover for herself to be there, but he’d absolutely shot that idea down.
“She knew you’d have a difficult time, and she wanted you to come back to her. You, Master. Not some other version of you,” Lana replied easily.
She wasn’t afraid of him any more than Ambrielle was. Lana had grown up with him. She regarded him as a sibling. She’d seen him at his worst—when he’d been brought back from the prison and the guards had tossed him down the stairs. Viktor and Mechanic would carry him down through the narrow opening to their side of the basement, the little territory they had carved out for themselves. All the children would gather around trying to ease his suffering if they hadn’t been tortured that day.
“She’ll leave me after I kill Walker for her. She’ll come to her senses and leave. She should. She’s too good for someone like me.”
Lana stopped midway down the hall and turned to look up at him, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Stop talking like that about yourself. Stop thinking like that. Ambrielle loves you. You have to start thinking you’re worth her love or you will lose her. She suffered trauma, yes, and she’s working her way through it, just like we did and are still doing, but she put all her cards on you. She’s not going anywhere. You’re her everything, Master, and that’s a hell of a load for you to carry. If you want out, make sure it’s because you really want out. Because you don’t want her. Otherwise, stop whining about what a fuckup you are and be glad the woman has blinders on and adores you.”