Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Maddox: And here I thought you had no game. Remember, these girls love persistence.
Hunter: Says the guy who’s never dated a girl for more than three seconds.
Maddox: Don’t be jealous because I know how to close the deal. How are those blue balls?
I shake my head as I grab my food from the microwave and start digging in, but I can’t resist sending one last text.
Hunter: It’s alarming how much thought you have for my balls. Something you need to tell me?
Maddox: Don’t play with me. You’ll lose every fucking day. Need a good fondle? I’m your man. Wanna tea-bag that shit? I’m down. Just say the word and I’ll suck those little blueys right to the back of my throat. What good is a best friend if I don’t have your back when you need it most?
Fuck me. I should have seen that coming. Don’t get me wrong, Maddox is as straight as they come, but there’s no line he wouldn’t cross to prove a point, and if it truly came down to me demanding that I tea-bag him to test his loyalty, he’d assume the position before the sentence was even out of my mouth.
What can I say, he’s the best friend anybody could need.
Hunter: Thanks, man.
Maddox: Don’t mention it. But just between me and you, you’re thinking about my balls now, aren’t ya? I can send a pic if you need help with the visualization.
Hunter: If a picture of your balls appears on my screen, I’m going to strangle you with them.
Maddox: Feisty. I like that.
Letting out a breath, I shove my phone away, watching it sail across the counter before shoveling food into my mouth and grabbing my laptop. Today’s hit would have more than become breaking news by now, and I quickly pull up the local reports from the past twelve hours.
As expected, the body of Omar Randall was discovered at 2 p.m., by his neighbor, with a clean shot between the eyes. It was an easy target. Address provided. No street surveillance. Building security cameras previously taken out. No evidence. No witnesses.
It was clean, just how I like it.
Still, irritation lingers beneath my skin as I skim through another report discussing the growing panic spreading through Onyx Heights. Three bodies in two weeks. And considering I’d only taken out two of them, it leaves me with questions.
Somebody else is operating in this city. And I don’t like it. Not because I suddenly grew a conscience and care about the victims. But because another killer means more bodies, and more bodies means more cops, and more cops brings nothing but trouble.
And trouble, well that shit right there gets people caught. Or worse.
If I’m right, this other killer is the same one who took out my target last week, meaning there’s already a good chance that he knows who I am and has seen my face. The fact he took my hit without leaving a trace tells me he’s good, and that’s a problem for me.
Letting out a sigh, I close my laptop and drag a hand down my face. At some point, I’m going to have to seriously start looking into this person and figure out how the hell we’re supposed to coexist in the same city. And if coexisting isn’t in the cards, well . . . that’s an easy fix.
A laugh rumbles through my chest at the thought, and just as I go to shovel another bite into my mouth, a muffled grunt filters through my living room.
I turn my head toward my door, trying to follow the sound, another comes, followed by another, and my brows fly up, realizing it’s Lyra. It’s a frustrated sound, like grunts and groans, but then . . . It’s soft and breathy, almost desperate, and I freeze.
Well, well, well. She’s getting off!
My lips twist into a satisfied smirk, and I simply listen, wanting to hear the way she comes. I bet she’s the type who needs toys to do the job. Her fingers wouldn’t be enough. She’s probably lying in her bed, sheets strewn across the room as she rides a dildo and puts her vibrator to work.
God, I can see it so perfectly. Her body would be jolting as she gets closer to the edge, squirming in the sheets as her back arches off the mattress.
Oh, my sweet Lyra, touching herself like that. Too proud to come and knock on my door and ask me for what she wants. Gotta admit, I like that fierceness about her. I like that she stands her ground. That she’s stubborn as all hell. I should have known better. She’s not going to come to me. I’m going to have to go to her.
I enjoy every second of it, listening as her soft moans begin to turn into grunts, only my enjoyment begins seeping away. Those grunts don’t sound as though she’s having the time of her life. They sound more . . . irritable.