Redeemed Royal (Duke of Tudor #3) Read Online Amarie Avant

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: Duke of Tudor Series by Amarie Avant
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Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
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The pants I’d stolen from the hotel room are trampled by the door. I quickly grab them and place them on. I’m waiting for Victor’s next orders, but he’s staring at a small sticky puddle of blood below the makeshift examination table. Suddenly, it hits my man that he was mere moments too late.

Not a second later, all of Victor’s efforts become fruitless. He didn’t save the baby. Nor did he save us. There’s a commotion in the hallway, and malicious, armed Arabians surround us. Guns larger than I could fathom are drawn on myself and the man I’m just now realizing isn’t invincible.

12

Victor

I had myself a moment back there where I could not grapple with the current circumstances. Al Rafi’s men caught me ill-prepared, which probably mitigated the bloodbath I’d planned. Now, the militia has escorted us back to the hotel and to a penthouse suite. One of Al Rafi’s servants provided Luxury with clothing. She’s in the loo, showering and changing. I sit on a leather settee. The wound in my shoulder, steeped beneath my steely grip, was long forgotten about the second after they offered hospitality.

My targets sit across from me, Al Rafi and the Duke of Somerhaven, Silas Tudor. My bloody fucking father. They’ve champagne in their hands as they pass each other a written decree.

“You’ve obtained your woman,” Silas repeats, glaring at me over the top of the declaration. I can see it in his eyes.

Bloody payback.

I ground my teeth, reminiscing of the time my hands brandished the bastard’s neck. Should’ve finished off the rubbish.

Silas holds out the paper and a twenty-four-carat gold pen to me. The wanker uses a fatherly tone. “Now, sign the agreement.”

My mind toys with thoughts of murdering the sheikh and the guards surrounding him. Any man that holds loyalty to him is a mark.

Even Silas.

I will not rest until Al Rafi’s blood paints my hands. I want the warm red liquid to grow cold as I bludgeon the sheikh.

“Victor, you murdered twenty of Noor’s men today and at least three at the casino on a different occasion. That alone is grounds for execution! You are a bloody terrorist.”

“Terrorist, eh?” I growl. “What about Luxury?”

“Ah, my next stipulation, son. The sheikh has agreed to return the American. Outlined in the contract includes a clause that you are never to come within a five-hundred-mile radius of Al Rafi’s territory for the rest of your natural-born life. All is well. Sign.” Silas’s gander flickers toward the pen as if reconsidering but wondering how I’ll sign over my soul, sans pen.

It’s a potential weapon.

The bastard taught me that much.

I fancy sliding the object through his jugular like butter and allowing the blood to cascade over my hands.

One quick hard thrust into my father’s jugular. Yes, that will do, then out and up and into Al Rafi’s throat. All in one fluid motion.

Nice.

Quick.

Efficient.

Well bloody deserved.

While the dark vision attempts to set roots in my psyche, I’m unnerved by how close my Little One is.

All this time, I begged a Greater Good to keep her safe.

Now she’s here, and I’m bloody incapable of vengeance. Bollocks.

My eyes coast over to the bathroom where Luxury, forlorn, had retreated upon arrival—without allowing me to enter and assist her.

Instead of suicide and putting Luxury’s life in further jeopardy, I rejoin the current discussion and hiss, “Why has the laughingstock of London chosen to show his presence today?”

“I am your father. As previously stated, you are my concern. While this girl was running off, I had already begun negotiations with Sheikh Al Rafi. I set in motion a plan to quell the storm that you’ve brought upon yourself by deflowering Princess Noor.”

That’s it.

I’ve bloody had enough.

The process of murdering my father and Al Rafi would take all of two seconds, tops. Then there are the guards in the room. The 360 open-floor-plan suite makes me a ready target. I don’t give a shite. But Lux.

As I revel in a plot to murder them all, Silas christens himself the voice of reason.

Who’d have thought it?

The bloke never advocated for any person, blood or stranger alike. He settles onto the seat next to me. “There’s only one way for you in this state, Victor. It leads to death.”

While ignoring the poisonous words of my father, disguised as wisdom, I glimpse the bathroom door. Luxury wouldn’t glance at me during our travel here. If Luxury weren’t present, I’d decline the peace treaty. Just act on my desire to kill. And if perchance I died, so be it.

I’d welcome the afterlife.

“You bloody damn well know I didn’t fuck that cunt. All of you!” I let despair wash over me. The sort I ran from ages ago and hadn’t allowed to torment my mind after the death of my wife and child. With tears in my eyes, I gesture to the pen. Satisfied that he’s broken me, my father cautiously extends a hand. With each beat that passes, he grows more confident in my failure and allows me to remove the pen from his hand.


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