Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
I wasn’t supposed to be on the film at any point. I wasn’t supposed to leave my DNA in her, and she wasn’t supposed to like it. Any of it.
Fuck her.
There’d been a plan, a good plan.
When I put her into that room, I was in command.
I had objectives that were going to be met— she would obey any order I gave—it would break her spirit—and I would have it all on film.
Nowhere in the plan did it say Olivia Manwarring was to be happy. Just like a fucking Manwarring to get pleasure from this. Somehow, she manipulated the situation, turned the tables, and that scheming, manipulative little bitch got what she wanted.
She came three times, so hard she squirted. She liked being my whore.
I didn’t know how she got control of that situation, but she did.
Why else was I in my office pissed off while she was lying on my sofa, freshly fucked and euphoric?
Well, we’d see how much she liked it when everyone she loved knew what kind of woman she really was.
CHAPTER 23
LUC
Isat at my desk, looking out at the world spread below my feet.
Amelia called it my brooding Mount Olympus view; she wasn’t wrong. Then again that wife of mine was rarely wrong.
She was at the art school I bought for her, helping the younger classes with finger painting or whatever they did. I didn’t begrudge her that. She was trying to stay busy while I was here working.
We should have been on a private beach enjoying the waves and sun and lots of sex. I should have been balls deep in my wife, trying my damnedest to overload the effectiveness of what was left of the birth control in her system with the sheer volume of my come flooding her womb.
Instead, I was in my office heading up every private military group in this hemisphere that was chasing down her ex-fiancè, my ex-friend, the rat bastard who took my sister.
It had been two days, and there was no sign of her and not another word from him.
My phone pinged from my inner jacket pocket. I took it out expecting a message from Amelia or something from the private teams.
Instead, it was a message from the rat bastard himself.
Marksen: You know I am learning a lot about your sister. She really has grown up since we hung out as teenagers. Tell me, which do you think she is more addicted to? The party lifestyle and the drugs?
Attached was a picture of what looked like Olivia doing a line of coke off a glass table next to a giant rainbow tentacle. I did not want to know what that was used for.
Marksen: Or is it my cock?
The next attachment was Olivia, with what I assumed was Marksen’s cock down her throat.
Marksen: Either way, the Manwarring Princess isn’t as innocent as most think she is.
Marksen: Well, not anymore.
I could practically hear Marksen’s mocking laughter in my ears.
I threw my phone on my desk and pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes, leaning forward as I tried to control my breathing and my temper.
It didn’t work. The only thing I could see was the phone screen lit up on the desk, mocking me.
In a moment of weakness, I lost control.
A yell of pure rage tore from my lungs, and in a sudden fit of violence, I swept everything off my desk onto the floor before throwing my chair across my office. It went straight through the glass wall, shattering it into a million pieces into the hallway.
A few women screamed, then there was silence as I braced my hands on my desk and worked to get myself back under control.
A loss of control was a sign of weakness, and I needed to be strong for Olivia.
A crunching sound came from the hallway. My father walked over the glass and looked at the wreck that used to be my pristine office.
“What?” I bit out.
“So, I see you got the photos, too. What are we going to do? What is our next plan?”
“I’m going to kill him with my bare hands,” I ground out as if I were physically chewing the shattered glass under his feet, meaning every single word.
My father nodded, for a moment considering my words.
“That would send a message.” He grabbed my chair and pushed it back into my office, brushing some glass shards from it and taking a seat. “I’m not saying we aren’t going to do that, but let’s think this through.”
“What is there to think about? This is my fault. I need to handle it.”
“Why is he doing this? Why is he starting a war he knows he can’t win? Marksen is arrogant, but he is not stupid.”
“He’s still furious I stole Amelia.”
My father scoffed. “Your bride is pretty but she’s not worth all this.”