Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
My eyes fall upon the table. “But I didn’t even get to finish my drink…”
Ivan tips his head back, chuckling. Reaching around me, he grabs my glass and hands it to me. “Here, you can finish on the way.”
Pushing the glass into my hand, I have no choice but to accept it. He gives me a pointed look until I lift the glass to my lips and drink.
Fuck it. If I have to endure this, I might as well be drunk.
Neck arching back, I drain the wine completely as he guides me. His fingers flex around my hip protectively and he leads me to the back of the restaurant, through the kitchen, and to a door that opens to the back alley.
He has some silly rule about never leaving through the front.
I set the empty glass on a counter before we pass through the back door, stepping into the night. Ivan’s black limo is idling and the chauffeur holds the back door open for us.
Ivan pauses for a moment, looking towards the two bodyguards in the alley before dragging me forward. We take three steps and then Ivan tenses beside me.
Dropping my hand, he whirls around, and everything happens so fast I’m not sure what is happening.
Ivan crumbles to the ground and one of his bodyguards approaches me.
For a hysterical moment, I want to thank the bodyguard for knocking out Ivan but then the man grabs me. His hand slaps over my mouth and my lips are stuck together, I can’t move them.
I gaze up at the bodyguard, my eyes wide and watering as I scream behind the tape in panic.
His face hardens and then the world goes black.
As the black silk hood settles over my head and two strong arms lift me up, I can’t help but feel a little relieved…
How fucked up is that?
3
Andrew
Bagged and gagged. That went almost too easy, but for now, I’m not going to complain. Shit, I even have a hot fucking chick in the back with our package, but it’s going to be a shame if I have to consider her excess baggage.
Lucifer doesn’t like baggage when it comes to jobs. He wants everything neat and orderly. And this is a whopper of excess baggage.
We were supposed to take only Ivan and the wife, not his bimbo.
Snagging his fuck-toy was a must though when he brought the girl out the back door with him. If he hadn’t been such a gigantic douche nozzle, manhandling her out the door like he did, we could have snatched him and left her in the dust.
Shit. Things like this only lead to fucking complications. I don’t want complications. Fuck, it should have been his stupid fucking wife. Not this… this… fucking sexy young girl.
Shaking my head, I frown at the two people sitting across from me in the black limousine.
Turning my head, I tell Peter, “Let’s get to the warehouse, but add a few minutes to the trip. I need to figure out what to do about our little complication.”
Peter nods his head and I turn back to watch my prisoners for a few more minutes. The girl is sitting there, stiff as a board. Her every muscle looks locked in strain as she turns her head towards every little sound.
I bet she’s coming to grips with her dire situation. I bet she knows she is a loose strand, like a weed that needs to be plucked from the garden.
I fucking hate killing women, it turns my stomach when I do it, but… Fuck. Stupid fucking Ivan is dooming her.
Leaning forward, I growl out, “You stupid fuck, Ivan.”
Lashing out with a fist, I snap it into the bag that’s hiding that shit-fuck’s face. I feel the protruding bulge of his nose before the sharp stab of pain lances through my hand.
The scream of pain from behind his gag is just a little louder than my growl of, “Fuck!”
Shaking my hand, I hear a chuckle coming from the front seat behind me. I’ve fucked my damn hand up again. This damn hand has been nagging me all year.
Peter says, “Shit, did you just fuck your hand up again, Andrew?”
Ignoring him, I reach forward and whip the bag off of Ivan’s head.
He’s got fucking spirit though, I’ll give him that. Bloody nose, tears streaking down his cheeks. He still looks pissed off. And if looks could kill? I’d be castrated.
Shaking my hand, I rub the knuckle that is sending sharp stabs of pain through it. I fractured the damn thing when I was taking care of Bart, and I haven’t really had a chance to let the thing heal up.
Too many people are getting swept up into the maelstrom that is Lucifer’s rage. It’s been a year of fire and brimstone.
Too bad Ivan’s on the wrong side of the fence right now. I’m positive he’s never been on the receiving end of the treatment he’s getting right now. Well, fuck him and his bitch ass looks. Dude isn’t going to be such a pretty boy now.