Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Tessa – When Antonio Miles and his enforcers from Kiss of Death MC rescue me from a human trafficking ring out of Nashville, Tennessee, I know it’s only a matter of time before Iron comes after me. I’ve seen too much. Know too much. Nothing but my death will ensure my silence. Antonio knows, as well. He takes me to his home in the Great Smoky Mountains, where every door answers to him. He calls it protection. I know captivity when I see it, but Antonio’s control feels dangerously good, and the closer we come to destroying our enemies, the more I want things I can never have – like Antonio. Forever.
Antonio – I swore I’d never love again, but the moment Iron and his men come for Tessa, the protection I promised becomes possession. So I take her where no enemy can reach us. Home. My home in the Great Smoky Mountains. She challenges me, demands to know my plans, and refuses to hide while I fight her war. Every act of defiance only makes me want her more.
The only way to keep Tessa safe is to put Iron and his hired guns out of business. Permanently. No one touches my woman, and make no mistake, Tessa’s mine.
Warning: Antonio Miles includes scenes of graphic violence, drugs, and human trafficking which may trigger some readers. No cheating, and as always, Tessa and Antonio get their happy ending
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Prologue
Antonio Miles
The Miles family estate sat thirty miles outside of Nashville, a sprawling colonial with white columns and black shutters that had been in my father’s family since before the Civil War. The private room where we brought Judge Isaiah Marlin had no recording equipment and no witnesses beyond the two of us. My father had designed this room to be a space where business could be conducted without fear of electronic surveillance or prying eyes. Soundproof walls, a single tinted window reinforced with bulletproof glass, and the door locked with a key that existed only in Seth’s pocket and the safe in my office.
The room itself was spare and deliberate. A large, polished table sat in the center, its surface gleaming. Two chairs faced each other across its width. A bulletproof briefcase lay open on the surface. The contents fanned out in neat rows was the only disruption to the room’s careful geometry.
Marlin sat in one chair, his posture rigid despite the exhaustion evident in the lines around his mouth. His cuff links were gone, his collar open at the throat. A bruise yellowed along his jaw where one of my men had caught him with an elbow during the estate raid. He’d stopped asking for his lawyer an hour ago.
My father stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, saying nothing. Even in his sixties, he carried himself with the easy confidence of a man who knew his word was law and that law was absolute. His salt-and-pepper beard was trimmed close to his jaw, his eyes calm as he watched the afternoon light slant across the hardwood floor. He’d let me take the lead on this one. As a rule, we worked together as an almost symbiotic unit. My father might be a caring person, but Seth Miles was ruthless and demanded obedience and perfection. From everyone, but most especially his son. I might be in my prime, but Seth was more than my match in any situation. I wasn’t too proud to admit he could take me.
I sat across from Marlin, my posture relaxed but alert. “The Vossberg account shows six deposits over the last eight months.” I slid a document across the table. “All matching special handling purchases from Iron’s network.”
Marlin’s gaze dropped to the paper but he didn’t touch it. “As I’ve explained, I never purchased anyone. I provided a location for transactions. A neutral ground.”
“A neutral ground,” I repeated, keeping my voice bland like I could give a damn when I really wanted to skin the guy alive just to hear him fucking squeal. “With six-figure deposits into an account under your daughter’s name.” I placed another document beside the first. “An account your ex-wife knows nothing about.”
Marlin’s jaw tightened. “Those are business investments. Nothing to do with --”
“The trust that owns the property on Lake Radnor,” I cut in, placing a third document on the table. “Where you kept the girls between transactions.”
A flush crept up Marlin’s neck. “That’s not -- you can’t prove --”
“The coded buyer logs,” I continued, sliding another page forward. “The transport manifests. The payment records.” Each document landed with a soft whisper of paper against wood. “The security footage from the club where the Garrison girl was processed.”
Marlin’s face slackened with each new page, the color draining from his cheeks. “This is circumstantial at best. A judge would never --”